


The Years That Passed

by BlinkingAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Dark Dean, Demon Dean, Gen, It's a demon fic what do you expect, Kind of AU not quite, Murder, Torture, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 63
Words: 71,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlinkingAngel/pseuds/BlinkingAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Cas never saved Dean from Hell?<br/>Set seven years after season 3<br/>Don't let the chapter count deter you, they're little bitty chapters for the most part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam Winchester didn't go to church often. Not actually. Sure, many a monster has chosen to hunt or haunt or what have you in a Holy House, but that was different. Today, Sam was here to mourn.

Seven years.

Sam had given up any hope he may have had long ago. Of course, he'd gone down every strange, dark, sketchy, and crazy path he could dig up, but once he hit three years, he concluded that it was useless.

Dean Winchester died seven years ago today, and there's nothing poor, lonely, broken Sammy can do. 

He could hunt, sure. Carry on the family business as the only Winchester left standing. And he did. However, that didn't change the fact that he was alone, didn't make the knowledge that Dean was gone for good any less painful. It just wasn't fair that he got a second chance at the expense of his brother. Dean couldn't go on without him? How did he think Sam would handle it when the hell hounds came for him, as they inevitably would? He knew that he should have moved on by now, but guilt kept the wound fresh. Seven years ago felt like just yesterday. 

He stopped at some roadside church on his way through Illinois. A sad, dilapidated old place, long since abandoned. It was decorated with dirty, broken windows, six short benches that served as pews, an altar, and a good-sized wooden cross leaning against the far wall.

This had been his tradition for the past seven years. On the anniversary of Dean's death, he'd drop whatever he was doing to go to church. At first, it was to pray to anyone who'd listen. Beg for someone, anyone, to please _please_ bring his brother back. The problem was that either no one could hear him or no one cared, so this quickly turned into a time for mourning. Now, as he had the past few years, Sam sat in an empty pew, rest his weary head on clasped hands, and quietly wept.

Seeing as this particular church was notably empty when he got there, so run down that most wouldn't even notice it, Sam was justifiably surprised when he heard an all-too-familiar voice from the direction of the door:

"Crying in church? Come on now, Sammy. Of all things, I didn't expect you to go soft."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam's eyes snapped open at the voice. He carefully pulled out his handgun, stood, and turned, prepared for the worst.

He could never have been prepared for what he saw.

Leaning against the doorframe, not quite inside the church, in a familiar uniform of blue jeans, a brown leather jacket, and a smug grin, was none other than the late Dean Winchester.

Sam was rendered speechless. His mind was racing: ghost, shifter, demon, trickster. Some creature with his brother's face. He wasn't quite sure what to feel, but anger was definitely creeping in. However, even though he acknowledged the probable danger right in front of him, he also knew that there was a very, _very_ slight chance that it was really _actually_ Dean. Coming back from the dead wasn't entirely unheard of, after all. Sam slightly lowered the gun.

"What, are you just going to stand there or are you going to come say hi?" Maybe-Dean asked, nonchalantly dusting his sleeves. Sam slowly advanced, taking stock of the weapons he had on him. The gun in his hands, the silver knife in his jacket, and the demon killing knife in his right boot. Everything else, including holy water and salt, was still in the car. By now, Sam was about five feet from the door and Maybe-Dean hadn't budged.

He held up a hand before Sam could get any closer, "hold on, I know. I got it." He then did exactly what Sam was thinking. He took out his own knife, gave Sam a good look at it to verify that it was silver, and made a little cut on the back of his hand. No burning or boiling, not a shifter; he bled, so not an illusion or spirit of any kind. He then pulled a flask from his jacket and splashed some water on his face. Again, nothing happened, not a demon. He gave a little shrug and an eyebrow raise while stashing the flask and stepping further back into the sun.

Sam's eyes widened and he lost his grip on the gun. It was _him._ It was impossible, but it was him. "Dean," was all he managed to hoarsely croak. He quickly closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around his brother, patting his back to make sure he was real, squinting back the tears that threatened to come pouring out again.

He pulled back, "Dean — I — you're... here," he got out, not quite able to sort his thoughts into words, "you're alive! H-How... How are you alive? I mean, you..." the excitement in his voice faded as he realized where Dean should be at the moment, "you went to hell, right?"

"Yeah," Dean grinned and dropped his head, as if in a fond memory, "but I'm finally out. It's real good to see you, Sammy. How long was I down there anyway?"

"Seven years today. How did you get out?"

Dean shook his head at this, looking at the ground. "Seven years." He mumbled with a smile and a laugh, he seemed to be finding the whole thing very amusing. "Seven years of hell. Time does fly, huh?" There was a strange gleam in Dean's eyes when he looked up at Sam.

With a nervous chuckle, Sam remarked, "well, it didn't exactly fly up here. It's been hard without you, Dean."

Another laugh, slightly more hysterical. "Not up here. Time is so much slower up here! I would have _killed_ to be in hell for only seven years." Dean had started to sound less amused and more manic.

"Dean, how long were you down there?" Sam asked warily. He started slowly backing towards the impala, realizing that this was not normal. Something was off about his brother. 

Dean followed, sounding more and more angry. "You were up here having a grand old time for seven short years. Do you want to know how long I was there? How long I was in Hell?" He stopped advancing when Sam got near the car. He paused briefly, glancing over his brother's increasingly defensive stance, then continued with a quieter, darker tone, "time passes pretty different downstairs. When I finally clawed my way out, I had been there for  _nine hundred years_."

At this, Sam stopped, his eyes widened, mouth slightly open in surprise.

Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and started to slowly and casually pace back and forth. He took a deep breath and looked up to the relatively clear sky. He looked to be calming himself. After a pause, he continued pacing and talking. "Hell, man. It does some crazy things to ya. First couple hundred years, it was all 'why me' and 'poor Sammy's all alone'. But after a while, I felt almost like I _belonged_ there. It was almost bearable, the fire, the blood, the screams." A small smile flashed across his face and he paused briefly to let his words soak in. "I think that somewhere around six hundred years, I just stopped caring, stopped feeling. I started to think, 'hey, maybe it's not so bad down here'. And, just like that," he snapped his fingers, "I'm gone. Well, it was weird. Nothing about it changed, but I don't think I was really _me_ anymore." He paused again to look at Sam, who was all but cowering against the impala, looking increasingly scared. Dean continued with his speech, now staring at his brother. "You learn the funniest things, you know? For instance, did you know that demons are made from tortured souls. Every demon used to be human, but they were sent to hell and," he snapped his fingers, "finally snapped. Nine hundred years, Sammy. That's a lot of time. Nine hundred years down there can do a hell of a lot to someone's sanity." Dean stepped forward until he was just out of reach.

"I'm sorry, I really am, but," he deliberately blinked to reveal, to Sam's horror, two pitch black orbs, "I'm pretty sure that I'm not human anymore."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam reacted quickly. While Dean was talking, he'd been trying to get to the the impala. The second he saw the eyes, Sam dove for the flask in the passenger seat and threw some of his own holy water in his face. It steamed and sizzled as the demon stumbled back. Sam pulled the knife out of his boot and held it in defense as he — it recovered.

The demon let out a growl of pain and tried to shake free of the burning, but made no move to attack, "What the hell, Sam?"

"You're not Dean," Sam said through clenched teeth, "so why are you here? What do you want?"

He recovered and stepped back upon seeing the knife, hands protectively in front of him, "woah okay, let's not do anything crazy." His eyes faded back to Dean's usual green, probably an attempt to look less threatening. 

Sam wasn't buying it. He didn't dare let his guard down for even a second. He should have known right off the bat that Dean actually coming back was too good to be true. "You've got a lot of nerve tracking me down, looking like that. Give me a good reason why I shouldn't just kill you now."

"Sam, come on. It really is me."

Sam gave a warning wave of the knife, "No! Dean's dead, and he's not coming back."

Some amount of guilt or sadness emerged in Dean's eyes. "I told you the truth. I'm no happier about it than you, but I'm _back_. Please. I crawled out of _Hell_ to come see you again. Give me a break here."

Sam really wanted to believe him, but his whole being was telling him not to. It sounded like Dean. Acted like him. But it just couldn't be. It was a _demon_. Demons lie. 

"You have to see it. You of all people. It's me, Sammy. Might be a demon, but it's still me. Can't be that hard to believe. I mean, I'm not your first friendly demon, right?"

"Ruby tried to trick me into starting the apocalypse, so I killed her. In my experience, demons aren't exactly trustworthy."

"Well then. Told you she was trouble."

Sam took a cautionary step forward, annoyed with small talk. "Why should I believe you?"

"You're alive because of me! I sold my soul to save you, Sam! Apparently, this," he gestured to himself, eyes again flashing black, "is what happens when you sell your soul."

Sam lowered the knife a bit, still refusing to let down his guard entirely. Dean, a demon. He'd come across some demon lore that matched what he'd said, that demons were made from people in hell. He just couldn't bring himself to believe that it could happen to Dean. Dean wouldn't let it happen, he was too stubborn to give up his humanity. "No. Demons lie," he said through his teeth, though he knew it didn't sound too convincing.

The demon looked almost hurt by this. Sam half expected some supernatural attack, by the way he was staring. Rather than attack, he reached under his shirt collar to remove a pendant tucked away there and simply held it up for Sam to see. A large golden amulet on a black string. The very same that Sam had given to his brother some twenty years ago. The one he'd pulled off Dean's dead body seven years ago, that he'd refused to take off for a full four years after that, that he'd kept hanging on the rear view mirror of the impala as a reminder, and most importantly, the very same that had gone missing about a month prior. It just disappeared. It was hanging in its place one day, gone without a trace the next. It had been so odd, there was no sign that anyone had broken into the car and the pendant was the only thing taken, the thief hadn't even touched the arsenal in the trunk or the stash of backup phones and fake IDs in the glove compartment. Just this. The loss was devastating at the time. Sam had felt as though losing that one item was like losing his last connection to his brother. The car, Dean's 'baby', was still there, sure, but that was different. That was their home on the road, handed down from their father. Whereas this amulet was always _Dean's_. A symbol of trust and family and losing it was, to Sam, losing his brother for good. 

"Where did you get that?" was all he could manage. 

The demon slipped the amulet back over his head. "Just by chance, I saw the impala a little bit after I got out. Saw this in the window. I mean, it is mine, isn't it? I wanted it back."

Sam tried to process this. Dean had always been protective of that amulet because it was a gift from Sam. It meant as much to him as it did Sam. The fact that this demon had taken it – and not for any nefarious purpose, just that he wanted it back – was frankly impossible to believe. A sentimental demon in his brother's skin, paying Sam a visit on the anniversary of his death. Even if it was a demon trying to manipulate him, it likely wouldn't have revealed itself so soon. And it was a fact, demons are made from souls in hell, and Dean had been there for quite some time. It couldn't be. But it just had to be. "Is it really you?" He finally got out.

"That's what I've been trying to say. Now can you _please_ drop the knife?" Sam stashed the knife back in his boot and Dean settled into his usual demeanor. "Thank you."

Sam was still trying to sort the situation in his head. "But how could– why would you—"

"Become a demon?" Dean cut him off, "it's not like I had a choice. I was down there for a _long_ time. It just happens after a while. Doesn't mean anything though. Still me."

Sam wasn't sure how to respond, so he changed the subject. "So I'm assuming that wasn't holy water."

"Never said it was. I wanted to be able to talk to you before you freaked out on me. Fat lotta good that did, huh?"

Sam nodded slightly with a little forced smile, staring at the ground and trying to wrap his mind around it. "And you still... look like you."

Dean laughed out loud at this, "believe me, you don't wanna know what I really look like. But yeah, I wasn't just going to take someone off the street, I've seen what that does to a person. Plus, it's nice to be back in my old meat. Thanks for not torching me, by the way. Took me a while to find my body, a little macabre when I did, but a little elbow grease and I'm good as new. I couldn't just give this up. I mean look at me," he spread out his arms with a smug smile, "I'm gorgeous."

Sam was a bit disturbed at the comment, still struggling to see Dean as a demon, but he couldn't help but smile at how little he seemed to have changed in other aspects. "Yeah, it's you, alright." He finally gave up his defensive stance.

Dean walked past him to lean on the hood of the car. "And sorry for going a little overkill," he gave a small chuckle, "you're kind of the first person I've talked to for a long time that didn't just want to gut me for fun."

Sam pulled two beers out of the trunk, handed one to Dean, and leaned on the car next to him like so many times before. He kept his distance, never quite getting within reach, but who could blame him? He was sitting next to a demon after all. Dean took the bottle and just looked at it fondly for a while before opening it and taking a sip. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste, and a small smile appeared on his face. After a minute, he spoke up. "So what you been up to? Working on anything right now?"

Sam sighed and looked away for a bit before responding. He was now realizing the difficulties that lay ahead of then. This was Dean back from the dead, he probably wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. "It's great to see you, Dean, it really is. It's great that you're here."

"But?"

 "But you know, you've been officially dead for seven years. I mean, any hunter sees you, they're not going to just let you go. They'll want the same tests: salt, silver, holy water, the works, and when you don't pass, they're not gonna give you the benefit of the doubt. You go back out on the field, you're as good as dead. Again."

Dean took another sip, savoring it. "But I had you fooled for a bit, didn't I? I'll run the tests myself, like I did with you." he pulled his water flask and a a small bag from his jacket and held them up to see. "Regular water and sugar. No one needs to know, no one will be able to tell. Come on Sammy, I didn't spend twenty years climbing back up here just to hide out. I want to get back to work. We don't even meet that many hunters anyway."

"I guess. What about demons? Won't exorcisms be a problem?"

"I can deal with demons easy. Picked up a few new tricks. And a new tattoo." He pulled his shirt collar to the side to reveal new black ink in place of the old, a binding link to keep the demon in the human body under any circumstances. "Exorcisms won't be an issue. I've thought it all out. I can handle this. And hey," he added with a grin, "it can't hurt to have a good demon on the team for once."

Sam slowly shook his head, "I don't know, it just doesn't feel right."

"Hey, I'm not expecting you to completely trust me. I'm not stupid. I'm just saying, we could try it out. See if I can earn that trust back. Go on a few hunts, you know, for old time's sake."

Sam thought about this for a bit. There would definitely be obstacles, but Dean did put up a good argument. "Sure," he said finally, "for old time's sake." He lifted his bottle to Dean, who immediately tapped it with his own. They both drank and in that moment, they could almost pretend that everything was back to normal.


	4. Chapter 4

They sat like that in silence for a while. It was nice, but Sam couldn't help feeling a bit on edge. The entire time, he was watching for anything out of the ordinary, ready to jump into action any moment. Nothing happened and eventually, he decided it was time to get moving. Places to go, monsters to kill. He tiredly slumped into the driver's seat. 

Dean, on the other hand, was unable to get in the car without first inspecting it to make sure there wasn't so much as a scratch on it, stroking a hand along the frame and murmuring to it all the while, "hey, baby. I'm back. Miss me? Sammy didn't hurt you, did he?"

After about five minutes, Dean finally settled into the leather seat, looking like a kid in a candy store. He was checking every detail as if he hadn't seen it just a month earlier when he stole the amulet. 

"Are you ready to go, or do you want me to give you two some time alone?"

"Aww, don't pay attention to him, baby." He said, stroking the dashboard. Then, to Sam, "alright, let's go." Sam twisted the key in the ignition and some easy-listening station played through the speakers. Dean shot Sam a 'seriously?' look and quickly tuned in to a classic rock station. Seeming pleased, he finally settled in. "Well it's good to see you took care of her."

"'Course. Hey I was wondering, if you found the car before, why didn't you come find me then?"

"Didn't have a body yet," he answered casually, then changed the subject quickly. "So, where are we going, anyway? For that matter, where are we?"

Sam gave him a confused glance, surprised by the sudden shift, "Illinois. How did you find me if you don't know where we are?"

"I told you, picked up some new tricks." With that, Dean disappeared. Sam jumped a bit and looked around. Not ten seconds later, he reappeared in his seat with a burger. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Yeah, cool," he said, though honestly a little freaked out. "You should probably tone it down with the demon stuff. We don't want to draw any unwanted attention."

Dean, unconcerned, started on the burger. "Whatever, so, what's in Illinois?"

"Headed to a town called Huntley. Pretty fresh case: last month or so there's been a bunch of cattle mutilations, missing livestock, missing pets. No missing persons reports yet, but I'm afraid that whatever this is is working its way up."

"Think something's getting hungry?"

"That's what it looks like. Who knows, it may have a taste for humans pretty soon."

"I say that's a good place to start." Dean sighed and smiled. "Back on the job. It feels good."

....... 

It took them about an hour to get to Huntley. It was a small, blink-and-you-miss-it town smack in the middle of a bunch of cornfields and farms, run through with a highway. By the time they rolled into town, it was about 11:00. They got a room at a motel-trying-to-look-like-a-hotel about twenty minutes out of town. Sam flopped onto a bed as soon as they got in, exhausted from a long and confusing day. Dean just stood by the door, looking unsure of what to do. 

"You gonna get some rest?" Sam asked. 

"Nah, I don't sleep. Don't need to. Where's your laptop?"

"Why?"

"I'm gonna do some research. See if I can find what we're up against."

"You're going to do research? Well I'm not going to argue with that. It's in the car, in the back seat." 

"Great," Dean said, leaving the room to retrieve it. 

Sam didn't know how he would fall asleep knowing there was a demon in the same room as him. It was likely Dean, but there was really no way to be sure and Sam still felt wary from his introductory rant. He was afraid that, even if it was really Dean, maybe Hell had changed him. It wasn't at all a far fetched idea. After all, every other demon he'd met had gone through the same thing and had completely lost it down there, why should Dean be any different? He took the opportunity while Dean was out of the room to stash the demon knife under his pillow before settling in. It could never hurt to be safe. 

He heard when Dean came back, but tried to look like he was asleep, or at least trying to sleep. Dean said nothing and got straight to research. Sam listened to him tapping away on the keys until he could no longer stay awake. 


	5. Chapter 5

Sam woke up slightly disoriented, not quite sure of where he was aside from the fact that it was another crappy motel. He sat up and tried to orient himself, but couldn't stop thinking about his dream: Dean came back from hell as a demon. Was it a dream? It had to be. After all, it certainly wasn't the first time he'd dreamt his brother back to life.

"Ah, finally," a voice sounded from behind him, in the direction of the door. Sam quickly stood to look, surprised to find Dean sitting at the table shuffling a deck of cards. "You know, you never really realize how long eight hours is until you sit through it. I could get a lot done in that much time." He stood, "you up for breakfast? I'm starved."

Sam was still trying to process the fact that Dean was actually there. That that crazy dream had been real. Dean didn't seem to notice his confusion. "I'll be in the car," he said, then promptly vanished into thin air. Sam had to take a second to let the realization sink in. It was real. All of it was real, not only was Dean here, but he was a bona fide demon. There was the proof, he'd disappeared right in front of him. That was quickly becoming a habit that Sam was sure he'd never get used to. 

He got ready quickly and went outside to find Dean waiting in the parking lot, Led Zeppelin wafting from the car's speakers. "Where are we going?" he asked as he closed the passenger's side door. 

"Breakfast." Dean responded, pulling away from the motel. "Passed this diner on the way into town, the locals swear by it."

"Dude how long have you been up?" He asked with a yawn, turning down the music. 

"Don't sleep. Demon. Remember?" It almost scared Sam how casually he said it. 

"Right, yeah. And you interviewed the locals for breakfast joints?"

"Interviewed is a loose term. I gotta say, loving the new tricks." Seeing the concern in Sam's face, he added wit an eye roll, "don't worry, I didn't do anything to anyone."

He wouldn't have done any damage, Sam thought desperately. Though he was a demon (the thought alone made him scared and uncomfortable), they had a history of being pretty unpredictable. This kept his mind occupied until they turned off the highway to a modest little diner. Dean parked and they went inside. Linoleum floors, vinyl booths, and plastic plants adorned the small, well lit room. They were seated immediately in a booth next to a group of loud hunters (actual game hunters, camouflage and the works) and both ordered coffee. 

Dean waited for their waitress to walk away, then leaned towards Sam excitedly. "So I did some research, and I'm pretty sure we can chalk it all up to a Jikininki."

"A what?"

The waitress came back, poured the coffee, and took their orders then hurried back to the kitchen. They both waited until she was gone.

"A what?" Sam asked again. 

"A Jikininki. Yeah, I know. Funny word. It's Japanese legend. A spirit with 'insatiable hunger'. Feeds on corpses. Now, I was looking into the reports, and all the cattle mutilations happened at the same time, and about a week before the disappearances started happening. That was about a month ago."

"So you think this thing came for the cows and stayed for the house pets?"

"It did say insatiable. I think you were right, it's only a matter of time before this thing steps up its game."

Their food was set in front of them. Dean immediately grabbed a fork and dug in. 

"Hungry?" Sam asked, with a tinge of humor.

"Yeah I'm hungry," he responded with a mouthful of food, "you go a couple hundred years without eating and see if you can resist a plate full of meat and potatoes."

"Right, anyway, how do we kill this thing?"

"There's the catch. I dug up a banishing ritual, but it's in Japanese. Do we know anyone that speaks Japanese?"

Sam was silent for a second, wondering whether or not to suggest this. He decided to. "Bobby does."

"Bobby? Really?"

"Yeah. I think we should call him."

"No, we're not calling Bobby," Dean said with a slight grimace. 

"Why not?"

Dean put down his fork and glared up at his brother, "you _know_ why not," he said, voice dark and unintentionally frightening, eyes involuntarily turning black.

Sam took a deep breath and spoke quietly, trying not to show how scared and disturbed he was by those black eyes, "you're going to have to face him sometime. And you're going to have to tell him the truth." Dean sighed and closed his eyes to calm himself. When he reopened them, they were back to normal. He went back to prodding at his breakfast with his fork and Sam continued. "Look, I know it's not going to be easy, but I'll be there to back you up. We have to call him if we're going to get rid of this thing."

"Fine," was all he said. They finished breakfast in silence. 

Outside, Dean sat in the car while Sam paced along the sidewalk talking to Bobby. When Sam got back in the car, Dean asked, "so what'd Bobby say?"

"He's on his way. Said he'd be here by tomorrow."

"What'd you tell him?"

"I just told him about the Jikininki and that we needed some Japanese text translated."

"No, I mean about me. Did you tell him anything about me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, "It's kind of hard to explain. Besides, I think he should hear it from you."

"He's not going to listen to me. So we're pretty much blindsiding him. He's just going to show up and SURPRISE, Dean's alive. But oh wait, he's a demon." His eyes glossed over black with the word 'demon'.

Sam supposed the black eyes weren't as bad if they weren't directed at him. Frightening nonetheless. "Pretty much."

"Yeah, that'll go over great." As he rolled his eyes, they faded back to green. 

"We don't really have an option do we?"

"I guess not." Dean whipped the car out of the parking lot and headed back down the highway, this time turning away from town and toward the corn fields. 

"Where are we going?"

"The ritual has to be read at the first place the Jikininki showed up. According to the police records, the cattle mutilations took place at this dairy farm just outside town."

They drove out of town and into a vast farmland. Dean followed back roads until it seemed they'd gone full circle. Down a thin road curving and bending through yet another corn field, they came across an old farm house. There were patches of mud and dead grass fenced in where there were probably once cows. They drove past slowly to survey the pastures. The particularly large one farthest away from the house seemed a good place for the reading.

...

Dean brought the car back to the motel parking lot, but didn't go inside. He was just pacing aimlessly around the car with hands shoved in his pockets. 

"I sent Bobby the address, he's meeting us there." Sam said, leaning on the car and watching Dean walk back and forth. 

Dean didn't respond. 

"So what are you going to do?"

Dean stopped pacing and looked up, "about Bobby? I'm going to get as far away as I can within earshot and tell him the truth. He's going to try to kill me, you know."

"I'll be there to back you up."

"And he's going to trust you? The last demon you worked with ended up bad, why shouldn't he think the same thing's happening here?" He was sounding more and more stressed. 

Sam tried to calm him down. "Dean–"

He ignored the concern and kept nervously rambling. "Like it or not, I'm a demon, Sam. I'm one of the things you should be hunting. And that's how he's going to see it. Another thing to hunt."

"Come on–"

"A-and how am I going to convince him that it's actually me, and not some random kill-everyone-for-fun demon," he threw in a little hysterical laugh, "I mean, I haven't even managed to convince you yet–"

"Dean!" Sam yelled to get his brother's attention.

"What?!" Dean yelled back louder, eyes turning black again. 

Sam spoke softly and calmly, taken aback by the demon eyes, "we'll figure it out. Bobby can't kill you, we have the colt and as far as I know, Bobby doesn't have anything else that can."

"As far as you know. Even if he can't, he'll sure as hell try. It's still going to hurt if he shoots me with a normal gun, you know. And salt and holy water both burn like hell, and he'll definitely have some on him."

"It'll be fine." Sam assured. Dean blinked his eyes back to normal and continued pacing in silence.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The next few hours found the two holed up in the motel room: Sam reading and researching on his laptop, Dean settled in front of the television watching news channels to catch up on current events. Dean made a few small comments regarding the news, but both were quiet for the most part.

Sam was still sorting through his thoughts on the situation. Mainly whether or not he should be trusting Dean. It was true, he still was skeptical about the fact that it really was Dean, but he also worried about what undesirable demonic nature might surface. From Sam's experience, demons didn't have too many good qualities; they were violent, powerful, manipulative, delusional, and altogether untrustworthy. The whole situation was starting to seem like a bad idea, but he'd give it a chance. There'd been no evidence of ulterior motives so far. Plus, if it really was Dean, he couldn't be happier to have him back.

After a while, he decided to get something off his chest. He finally spoke up, "hey, I've been thinking." Dean looked at him to convey interest. "I don't think the cattle mutilations had anything to do with this thing. They brought it here."

"Yeah, and?"

"Well, you know as well as I do." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Cattle mutilations? Those are demonic omens."

Dean nodded, seeing where he was going with this.

"Exactly when did you get out?"

He sighed, "about a month ago. This is me, isn't it? It's my fault this thing is here."

"Well, it's not on purpose, right? That's just what happens when you bust out."

"Right, but it is my fault. People could have died if we didn't show up. Is this going to happen everywhere I go?"

"I don't think so. I mean, demons don't always leave signs. I think it's just when they're really powerful. I mean sure it took quite a bit to get out."

"Yeah maybe." He was quiet for a minute, then abruptly changed the subject, 

"Hey, are you hungry? I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry lately."

Dean ignored the comment. "I could really go for a burger," he said while heading for the door.

The twenty-some minute drive took about ten minutes with Dean's driving. The place was unexceptional. The small parking area was lined with motorcycles and the sidewalk with smokers. A sign above the door said "Parkside" in curly green letters. The interior was more bar than grill, a large counter in the middle with a few booths lining the walls. It was pretty empty, considering it was near dinner rush hour. Dean did get his burger, and a drink or two, and by the time they'd left, the small town was dark and uninhibited.

They headed back to the motel with a light-hearted argument about who would win in a fight, Spiderman or Superman. When they got back, Sam pulled out his laptop and claimed to be looking into a potential case. Dean, on the other hand knew what he was really doing: scouring the Internet for any and all lore about demons. He could tell Sam was scared. He hadn't said anything about it, but Sam's worries were clear as day in Dean's head. He couldn't go as far as reading thoughts, but feelings came through automatically, like an extra sense.

He could tell that Sam had hardly any trust; constantly on edge thinking that Dean had some master plan to turn on him, or would just go on some killing spree. Skeptical as to whether or not Dean was actually himself. Terrified every time Dean's eyes changed — an annoying side effect of heightened emotion he was still trying to get under control. And then, small and tucked away, a hysterical happiness towards seeing his brother again. Desperate hope that Dean was telling the truth. A tentative happiness, still open to the possibility of disappointment or betrayal.

Dean wasn't sure what to make of all of this, but in terms of human emotion, he might have said that it broke his heart.

He waited patiently for Sam to fall asleep before teleporting back to Parkside. This time of night, it was fully a bar, more occupied than it had been earlier. Dean plopped down at the counter and the bartender was quickly in front of him.

"What'll it be?"

"Somethin' strong, surprise me."

She poured the drink and slid it to Dean. "So what's got you down?" She asked, leaning her elbows on the bar.

He shot her a forced grin, "What makes you think something has?"

She responded with a laugh, "only people come in here are old drunks, happy 21 year olds, and plain miserable people. You don't look old or happy. So what is it? Job? Family? I've heard it all."

Dean found her reasoning ironic. He was old. Very old, in fact, due to all his time in Hell. And he was happy. Happier than he'd been in nine hundred years. It warmed his cold, blackened heart just to see his little brother again. But at the same time, there was realizing how much pain he was causing Sam by just being there, which more or less balanced out his happiness. He took a long drink and stared into his cup with a sad smile. "What's your name?"

"Amy. You?"

"Dean." It felt strange to say his name, no one had asked for it for a long time. It almost felt like it didn't belong to him. "Tell you the truth, Amy, I've been to hell and back in the last few years. Done some things I'd rather not think about." Another sip. "And now, I meet up with my brother for the first time and naturally, he doesn't really want anything to do with me."

"Sounds like you just need to talk it out. You know, nothing happens without communication."

"Yeah, I guess." He avoided saying any more, slightly annoyed at her nosiness. Had a few more drinks before realizing the alcohol had little to no effect on him. As he got up to leave, he pretended not to notice that Amy had slipped her phone number under his glass. He walked out of the bar and made sure he was out of sight before disappearing, headed back to the motel to make sure Sam hadn't noticed his absence. The rest of the night, Dean ended up outside, leaning on the car and toning his new skills by psychically hitting a rock back and forth.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, Sam and Dean went to breakfast at the same diner (Dean had cherry pie. Nothing else.) then headed back to the dairy farm outside town. They waited on the side of the road for Bobby to show up, Dean getting more restless by the second. 

"You know, maybe I should just go wait somewhere else." 

"You're going to have to face this, Dean." 

Dean sighed and started drumming on his thighs. 

Bobby's junker pulled around the bend and parked behind the impala. Sam immediately got out to greet him. Meanwhile, Dean decided to wait for a minute to calm himself, couldn't have any involuntary black-eyed moments with Bobby there. He tuned in to the casual conversation outside. 

_"... Thanks for coming."_

_"Sure, no problem. I was just in Misouri helpin out an old friend. So what've we got here again?"_

_"A Jikininki. But first,"_ Sam paused, thinking about how to continue. He took a deep breath, _"I took a pit stop on my way into town, and you'll never guess who showed up."_

Dean took this as his cue. 

_"Who?"_

He took one last calming breath and slowly stepped out of the car. 

Bobby gaped at him, wide eyed. "What the hell? Dean?" 

Dean tried his best to appear casual. "Hey Bobby. Long time no see." 

Bobby responded only with a nod, pulling Sam to the side. 

_"Sam, tell me you're not being stupid about this."_

_"I'm not "_

_"People don't just come back from bein dead. You tested him, right? Silver, salt, holy water, all that?"_

Dean could hear every word of the hushed conversation and decided that now was as good a time as any to come out truthfully. He cleared his throat to get their attention. "Well, about that," he began, causing both to turn in surprise. "Not gonna lie, I didn't exactly pass all of the tests." Bobby reached towards his gun. Dean put his hands up innocently and continued, "now, don't freak out on me." He paused and tensed for the worst, "the test I didn't pass was the holy water." He shrugged, "You're right, people don't just come back from Hell. I had to come back as a demon." His eyes pointedly turned black. 

As anticipated, Bobby quickly drew his gun and didn't hesitate to shoot Dean once in the chest. He was going for more, but Sam grabbed the gun away before he could. 

Dean didn't react much, but looked somewhat offended, watching as Bobby fought to get his gun back. 

"Look, just hear him out." Sam said.

Bobby looked at him, horrified. "You can't really be this stupid. That's a _demon_ , Sam. That is not your brother." 

"Yeah, it actually is." Dean chimed in, still not daring to get closer. "I was dead seven years. That means about 900 in the pit before I got topside. Come on, Bobby, you do your research. You gotta know by now how demons are made." He could feel Bobby's doubt slightly wear down, but there still wasn't an inkling of trust. "It's still me, right Sammy?" He raised his brow at his brother, who had promised to back him up. 

Sam glanced warily at him, his heightened fear reminding Dean that his eyes were still black, making them even more uneasy. He quickly switched them back to normal. 

Sam continued. "Right. I've been doing some research, and I found out that once a vessel dies, a demon doesn't have any access to memories. Dean was dead for seven years, and now he remembers everything. So it has to be him in there." 

Dean noticed with relief the complete lack of doubt in Sam's statement. Bobby, though still skeptical, trusted Sam, and that was enough for now. 

"Great, now that that's out of the way," Dean sauntered toward Bobby and Sam and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "What do you say we ice this thing?" 

....... 

Sam laid down a salt circle in the grass, taking care to let Dean inside before closing it. Bobby started reading into the air. It was quiet for a while, but after the first stanza or so, the Jikininki appeared across the field in the distance. It disappeared and reappeared nearer and nearer until it was just outside the salt circle. It looked like a corpse, exposed bones and melting flesh. Bobby didn't look up from the paper and Dean remained stoic. Sam, on the other hand, stared at it, paralyzed. Dean remembered something he'd read on Jikininki: they paralyze their prey on sight. Also, something he distinctly did _not_ see in all his research: that Jikininki can't cross salt lines. 

The creature stared pensively at the circle for a moment before moving inside it. When it started to advance toward Sam, Dean did the first thing he could think of. He put himself between his helpless brother and the monster, prepared to fend it off by any means. The chant paused momentarily as Bobby glanced at Dean. 

"Don't look at it, Bobby!" He yelled, turning his threatening black eyes on him. "Keep reading!" He did so, more rushed and trembling than before. 

Dean stretched a hand in front of him and focused an attack at the thing with all the mental power he could muster, sending the Jikininki back into the wooden fence. Dean stared at his hand in amusement. The thing recovered and started to make its way back, but hardly made it halfway before Bobby finished the ritual. 

The Jikininki violently disappeared with a low moan and a burst of light. 

Sam collapsed to the ground with a shaking gasp. Dean was instantly beside him. "Sammy! You okay?" 

Sam took a deep breath and looked up, "yeah, I'm fine." He stood and looked at Dean, gesturing to his eyes. Dean blinked back to normal. 

Bobby looked at Dean, "what the hell happened, Dean?" 

"I just saved your life, a little gratitude would be nice. I'm not evil, Bobby. Just a hunter with a few tricks up my sleeve." He gave a smug smile. 

"Thanks." Sam said with sincere trust, much to Dean's relief. Bobby said nothing, still not prepared to get within five feet of him. 

"Well, best get going." Sam announced, and he and Bobby started walking away. 

"Hey!" Dean called after them. Both turned. Dean gestured to the line of salt in front of him, "someone wanna let me outta here?" 

Sam jogged back and kicked the salt out of the way. "This is gonna take some getting used to." 

"Yeah, no kidding." 

....... 

Dean said his goodbyes then waited in the car, music blaring, while the other two talked outside. He knew they were talking about him, but it was to be expected. He still had to work to earn trust, especially from Bobby. 

Despite the loud music coming from the impala, Bobby spoke quietly, remembering Dean's newly acute hearing. "Do you really trust him?" 

Sam glanced at his brother, "I'm trying to. We've gotta give him a chance here, Bobby. I think he's still figuring things out too, and the last thing he needs is us trying to kill him. I believe that it's him, but I don't know how much he changed down there." 

"I just want you to be smart about this. Remember what happened with Ruby. Anything happens, you bring him to me and we lock him up till we figure something out." 

"Yeah. Thanks Bobby." 

"Take care of yourself, boy. And take care of Dean." 

"I will."


	8. Chapter 8

Sam got back in the passenger seat and turned down the music as Bobby drove away. "How you doing?" 

"I'm great," Dean said, looking gleeful, "why shouldn't I be? Went a lot better than I expected. Bobby only shot me once. A case done with. On the road again with my brother. Couldn't be better. Are we ready to get the hell out of cornville though? This town's depressing." 

It made Sam feel good to know that Dean was actually happy. "Sure, let's go." 

"So what exactly happened back there?" Sam asked as soon as they were on the road. "I can't remember anything after seeing it." 

Dean shrugged, "Well, it was coming after you and the salt line didn't stop it. So, I fought it off." 

"How?" 

"With my super awesome demon mind powers," he responded with a smile. 

Things were as if nothing had changed, if not better. Dean behind the wheel of his beloved impala, singing along to classic rock and drumming on the steering wheel. He held no old grudges (a relief to Sam) and was essentially carefree. They set off to nowhere in particular, heading west from Huntley. 

After a long day of driving and a bit of listening to the police scanner, Sam suggested they find somewhere to stay the night. Dean found some roadside motel in Indiana and got a room. Sam settled in while Dean popped off to a gas station for a newspaper and some snacks. 

He appeared to the side of the gas station unnoticed and walked in. He was checking out when he noticed something wrong in the air. A strange presence somewhere close. He walked out of the store and quickly teleported back to the motel. 

The uneasy feeling was stronger standing outside their room. He recognized it, but couldn't quite place it. He pulled out his gun and carefully opened the door. Inside, Sam was already asleep and he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, though that feeling was still there. He checked the closet, the bathroom, under the beds, and anywhere else he could think of before deciding to leave it be. It slowly faded and Dean relaxed a bit. 

He browsed through the paper for anything strange for about thirty minutes and listened to the police scanner for the rest of the night while practicing his new skills. After knocking around a pillow for a while, he decided to test a theory. He already knew that he could read emotions, dreams couldn't be too far away. So he figured, why not push his abilities a bit farther? 

He sat on one of the twin beds, closed his eyes and focused solely on Sam's mind. Nothing seemed to happen, so he stopped the effort and opened his eyes. But he didn't see the motel room. Instead, he found himself in a forest. 

He grinned at his success and took in his surroundings. It was dark and misty. Ridiculously tall trees reached up on all sides. The only sound was a a quiet scream sounding in Dean's head. He closed his eyes and listened. 

It came in clearly now. A pained, wordless scream. Dean looked around, trying to find the source. 

Suddenly, Dean found himself in a different part of the forest. There was still an endless expanse of trees, but now he could make out two figures in the distance, one pinned against a tree a few feet above the ground and one standing in front of him, one arm outstretched. Dean had a bad feeling about who they were. 

He again found himself closer. Close enough to see their faces. Struggling against the tree was Sam, beaten and bloodied, barely conscious. Dean slowly turned to look at the other, though he already knew who it was. Standing in front of the tree, malice in his pitch black eyes, was Dean himself. 

"Please," Sam begged. "Don't do this. This isn't you." 

Dream Dean grinned wildly. "No. Not anymore." He clenched his outstretched hand and Sam screamed in agony. 

Dean decided he'd seen enough. He squeezed his eyes shut until Sam's screams faded. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was thankfully back in the motel room. His heart was pounding in his ears, though he didn't know if it was the shock and fear from the dream or the exertion of getting out of it. 

Sam was sleeping restlessly, still stuck in the dream. 

"Sam." Dean said, trying to wake him up. He didn't stir. "Sam!" He yelled. 

Sam woke up with a start, out of breath. 

"You were having a nightmare. Pretty bad one at that." 

Sam sat up and pinched the bridge if his nose. "Yeah. Thanks." 

"So is that thing still happening?" 

"What?" 

"You know the visions. Of people dying." Dean was terrified that Sam's dream had been a vision of his own death. He wanted desperately not to become the senseless killer he'd just witnessed. 

"Right. No that stopped a while ago. Just normal nightmares." 

Dean nodded, both relieved and saddened. Sam was still so afraid of him that he had nightmares of being killed by his own brother. Maybe it would never change. Maybe Sam would always have to force himself to look calm when in the same room as Dean. Maybe he'd never get enough sleep because he knew Dean was awake. Maybe he'd never be able to trust a demon. 

The more Dean thought about it, the less coming back seemed like a good idea.


	9. Chapter 9

The pair went out for breakfast and talked over oatmeal and pancakes. Dean decided to tell Sam about what he felt at the gas station. 

"Do you have any idea what it was?" Sam asked when he was done explaining. 

"You know, I feel like I recognize it, I just can't really put my finger on it." 

"So it was just, what, intuition?" 

"Well we've worked on just your intuition before. I just think we should stay here until I can figure out what it is. It feels like it could be dangerous." 

Sam nodded, "alright." 

They finished breakfast and headed back to the motel in a stretch of silence. Dean decided to break the tension. 

"Okay, if this is going to work, we need to be completely truthful with each other." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, I haven't told you everything, and I can't expect you to trust me if I'm keeping things from you." 

"Dean, if this is about what happened in Hell, it's fine. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." 

"No, it's not that, I'll tell you anything you want to know about my time down under. I mean, I know how you feel." Sam cocked an eyebrow. "All the time, it's like, I don't know, a sixth sense. I just know. Like right now you're skeptical." Sam gave him a look. "Now you're confused. Now you're half pissed off and half freaked out." 

"Huh." 

"And what I'm getting at is, I know how you feel about me. About traveling with me, about me hunting, hell, you're uneasy right now just because I'm sitting here." 

Dean could feel Sam's sudden guilt at the observation. "Why didn't you say anything about this before?" 

"Because it's something not really human and I could tell that you would flip out on me if I did. Same reason I haven't told you about the Latin." 

"About what?" Sam was looking more confused. 

"I know Latin, I speak Latin," he said with a shrug, "most demons do, primary language in Hell. Non est magnus paciscor." 

Seeing as Sam didn't quite know how to respond, Dean continued. "Alright, that's all I got without going into Hell stories. So is there anything you want to tell me?" 

Sam shook his head slightly, still processing the new information. "The truth?" he finally asked. 

"That's the idea." 

He spoke hesitantly. "You're scaring me, Dean. I'm so afraid that you'll be like every other demon I've seen." 

"Black eyed and kill-crazy?" Dean interjected, not all too surprised. 

"Well, yeah I guess. And I'm sorry, I just can't trust you yet. It's not you, it's everything that's happened before. Like, I don't know, maybe it's just instinct, something that'll happen to every demon eventually, like vengeful spirits. You just have to give me some time to adjust here." He paused for a moment to sort his thoughts. "And another thing, I've met demons a lot older than you who can hardly make a gust of wind, whereas you just got out and you can already disappear and reappear and toss a ghost clear across a field. And now this emotions thing, I feel like you're in my head and, honestly, it freaks me out a bit." 

"Wow," was all Dean said in response. 

"Too much truth?" Sam asked, now looking worried. 

"No. No, truth is good. Just, wow. That's just, you know, a lot." 

"I'm sorry." 

"No. It's good to know." 

"Dean–" 

He hit his palm against the steering wheel, eyes momentarily flickering black. "I said it's fine, Sam. Drop it." 

When they got back to the motel, Sam went inside while Dean loitered in front of the vending machine outside. He just needed some air. He already knew that gaining Sam's trust would be damn near impossible, but hearing all of his concerns out loud was like a blow to the chest. It had to come out eventually, he could tell that both of them needed to get it out in the open. He pounded a fist on the vending machine (a bit harder than he meant to, leaving a substantial dent) and turned to go back to the room. 

That was when it came back. That strange presence, much stronger than before, closer. Dean ran back to the room as soon as he felt it. He could hear some struggle from inside. He burst through the door to find Sam and some stranger in the midst of a knife fight. Sam was cornered, looking desperate and clutching his right arm. This was definitely the presence. A demon. 

Dean rushed in, arm outstretched. The demon was thrown against the wall and pinned there despite his struggles. 

"Why are you following me?" Dean insisted, stalking towards him. 

"It's you, isn't it?" The demon asked with a huge grin. 

Dean pulled him forward and slammed him back against the wall. "Answer the question!" 

"Oh they told me about you. How mad you'd get if I messed with little Sammy here. Why are you protecting him still? You don't need him. With how powerful you are, you could rule the world in a week if you wanted to." 

"Did 'they' also tell you what I'll do to you if I don't get answers?" Dean clenched his fist, eyes turning black. The demon moaned in pain. "Why are you here?" 

"Well I just wanted to see it myself," he continued, grin still in place, though his breathing was labored. "The strong young demon who thinks he can still be a hunter. You're a regular celebrity down under. I also wanted to send my congratulations. Crawling out in only twenty years. That's got to be some sort of record. Some of us are actually pretty pissed about it." Another chilling laugh. "I heard Lucifer had big plans for you." 

Dean clenched his fist tighter to shut him up. 

The demon let loose a scream then hysterically growled out, "you can't run from Hell. No matter how hard you try, you never really escape. You can't deny that you're one of us." 

Dean took a determined stance. "Exorcizamus te" he began. A small shock of pain took him by surprise as soon as the words reached his lips. 

The other demon chuckled at his grimace, "you're not going to exorcise me. Not without taking yourself with." 

Dean paid no attention. He started again, this time prepared. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica protestas," he fought to hold his stance, speaking with more difficulty, "omnis incursio, infernalis adverserii," his head was involuntarily whipped to the side, but he continued strongly. "Omnis legio, Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo... ergo..." Dean tried to continue, but it was too painful. He stumbled back, losing focus and dropping the hand holding the demon to the wall. The demon grinned and reached for the knife he'd dropped. 

Sam stepped in when he saw that Dean was in trouble and sped through the rest of the exorcism. Black smoke rushed out of the man's mouth and his body collapsed. 

Dean was coughing and panting, heavily supporting himself on a wall. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah, I will be. Thanks." 

"Yeah. What happened to the binding link tattoo? I thought that was supposed to help with exorcisms." 

"I'm still here, so apparently it works. I guess reciting it's different though." 

"Well now we know. I'll cover that part from now on." 

Dean just flashed a thumbs up, moved to a chair, and plopped down, allowing himself to catch his breath.


	10. Chapter 10

Once recovered, Dean went to take care of the body left behind by the demon. The guy had already been dead for quite some time, so he simply ditched the body in the woods, strategically placed to look like he'd fallen and broken his neck. When he reappeared in the motel room, he found Sam rifling through the first-aid kit they kept in the car. 

"What happened?" he asked, noticing the large and growing blood stain on the right sleeve of Sam's shirt. 

Sam jumped at his voice, apparently not having noticed his return. Dean made a mental note to be more obvious when he appeared in the future. "That demon got me pretty good in the arm, it's gonna need stitches." 

Dean stepped forward, "let me see." 

"I got it." 

"No, come here, let me see it," he insisted, pulling up a chair. Sam sighed and rolled up the sleeve, revealing quite a lot of blood which almost hid the deep cut tracing straight down his arm. Dean noticed that his heart automatically sped up in excitement at the sight of all that blood, though he'd deny it until he was blue in the face. "Yikes." 

"It's not too bad," Sam said, though Dean could sense the lie and detect his pain. 

An idea dawned on him. "I'm gonna try something, promise not to freak out." He didn't wait for Sam's answer. His eyes switched to black as he reached forward to place a hand on the wound. Sam instinctively flinched away, but generally cooperated. Dean closed his black eyes in order to focus his power. He felt Sam's awe and confusion as the gash closed itself under his hand. He grinned and opened his eyes to look at where the wound once was. Now it was just a bloodstain with no source. He switched his eyes back to their human shade and smugly looked up at Sam, "there, good as new." 

Sam was unsure whether to be grateful, scared, or concerned. "Well that's... useful. Thanks." 

Dean just gave a little nod before getting up to wash the blood off his hand. He threw a wet rag to Sam to clean up. "Start packing too, we're getting out of here." 

"Wait, why?" 

"More are coming, they're following me," he explained, sounding urgent. 

"More demons? Why?" 

"I don't know." 

"Well we don't really have to run. You're pretty well equipped to deal with them." 

"There's plenty that're stronger than me. Besides, it's not me I'm worried about." He looked genuinely concerned. 

"Alright. What about that thing you felt? Are we just going to leave that now?" 

"That _was_ what I felt. The demon. We have to get out of here." He began gathering their belongings into a duffle. "New rules from now on. I feel anything again, we either get out or get ready to fight. And we're not separated at all anymore. Never leave weapons sitting around, you always have the knife and holy water on you. " He disappeared from the room entirely and appeared directly behind Sam seconds later. "Ready to go?" 

Sam turned around, surprised. "Is this going to be a normal thing now?" 

"Are you ready to go?" he repeated impatiently. 

Sam thought for a moment, then nodded. He suddenly found himself in the passenger seat of the impala. Dean peeled out of the parking lot an was quickly back on the highway. 

"Okay, you have to warn me before you do that." 

Dean ignored the comment, "We'll get out of town, it'll take them a while to find us again. I'm sorry about this, Sammy. They're hunting you because of me." 

"It'll be fine. We'll work this out." 

"Yeah, I hope so. We have to find a way to drop off their map. They can find us anywhere in a matter of days." 

"So how do we lose them?" 

"I don't know. I'm sure there's something. We just need to look." 

"I could ask Bobby if he knows anything." 

"Alright, you do that." 

"Something wrong?" 

"No, it's just, Bobby doesn't want anything to do with me. He seems pretty sure that I'm ready to turn on you any second. But yeah, call him. If he knows anything, it'll save us the research." 

"You know it's going to take a lot for him." 

"Yeah, I know. His wife. I don't blame him. Give him a call." 

Sam pulled out his phone and dialed Bobby. 

_"Hello?"_

"Hey Bobby, it's Sam. We need some advice." 

_"Make it quick, I'm busy."_

"Would you happen to know of anything that'll throw demons off our trail?" 

_"Can't say I do. D'you two idjits already get yourselves into trouble?"_

"We can handle it." 

Bobby lowered his voice, _"hey, this wouldn't have anything to do with Dean, would it?"_

"It's not his fault, and it's nothing we can't handle." 

_"... Alright. I'll tell ya if I find anything."_

"Thanks, Bobby." 

....... 

Bobby hung up the phone with a sigh. He was worried about Sam, he had too much of a weak spot when it came to Dean. He was still wary of the demon. Sure it might really be Dean, but that didn't change the fact that demons, by definition, were monsters driven insane by Hell. 

He went back to the basement to the demon tied up in the center of a devil's trap. He grabbed a bottle of holy water while advancing towards the demon. 

"Now, I'm gonna ask you one more time before I send you back to Hell. What do you know about Dean Winchester?"


	11. Chapter 11

They were back on the road, stopping occasionally for food or rest, naturally checking papers wherever they went for anything unusual. They just hopped from town to town searching for cases. 

The break didn't last long. Three days later, the boys rolled into Dayton, Ohio. They stopped at some small back road cafe for lunch. Dean had a bacon cheeseburger, Sam had a salad. They both watched the daily news on tv mounted to the wall. A tune played announcing the five o'clock news. 

There was a bit of coverage on some political scandal, then the subject turned to crime coverage. A reporter read from a piece of paper as pictures of police cars and crime tape flashed in the corner. "Christine and Luke Owens were found dead in their apartment this morning. The police were alerted by concerned neighbor who reported hearing a struggle. The police are currently investigating. Ten year old Layla Owens taken into custody." 

Sam and Dean both perked up at the information. Dean spoke up, "Doesn't really sound like our kind of case, does it?" 

"We could look into it. We haven't had really been busy lately." 

"Alright. Hey, do I still have IDs?" 

Sam nodded with a small smile, "yeah. I couldn't really bring myself to throw them away." 

"Great. And a suit?" 

"That too. It was expensive, I figured I could make some use of it eventually." 

"We're all set then." 

....... 

They pulled up to the police station in full uniform and walked up to the front desk with confidence. 

They flashed their badges and Dean made introductions. "Agents Tyler and Hamilton." 

Sam chimed in, "we'd like to talk to whoever's in charge of the Owens case." 

"Sure, just a second." 

A woman in a blue suit, red headed and exceptionally short, appeared around a corner and swiftly walked up to greet them. 

"Detective Alyssum. I'm sorry, agents, I don't really have time to talk. I was just assigned to this case and I have a crime scene to investigate." 

Sam stopped her from walking away, "great, we'll come with. We were just assigned too." 

Her brow furrowed, "yeah, why are the Feds here so quick anyway? We just opened the case this morning." 

Dean shrugged, "hey, we don't give the orders, just follow them." 

She looked at them skeptically. "Could I see your badges?" 

"Yeah sure." Sam responded easily. She took their fake IDs and left to call their 'supervisor'. 

"What if this really isn't our kind of case?" Sam said once she was out of earshot, "I'd rather not get tangled up with the cops." 

Dean had sensed his discomfort from the minute they got to the station, now he thought he knew why. He shot Sam a smirk, "so what'd they catch you on?" 

Sam sighed, but couldn't help but smile back, "vamps." 

Before he could explain further, Alyssum returned and handed back their badges with a nod. "Alright, looks like you two check out. I guess I'll see you there. 

....... 

They met Detective Alyssum at the door to the apartment building. The apartment was on the third floor. It looked well kept and quaint. Alyssum explained the case to them while leading them to the parents' room. 

"Doesn't look like any signs of forced entry. The daughter slept through it, killer didn't even go into her room." 

Sam's brow wrinkled, "but I thought the neighbor called because he heard fighting?" 

Alyssum shrugged, "I can't explain it. We don't go into an investigation knowing the answers already. That's why it's an investigation." 

She continued into the bedroom, where the victims were, but Dean held Sam back and talked in hushed tones, "there was definitely something here, I can feel it." 

"Another demon?" 

"Don't think so. I don't know what though. But if we're gonna find anything, I bet it'll be linked to the kid." 

They joined Alyssum and looked around a bit before asking to see the kid's room. 

"But the killer didn't even go in there, why do you want to see it?" 

"Just want to be thorough," Sam assured. 

"Alright. Go ahead, second door to the left, I have work to do here." 

Dean followed Sam down the hall to the little girl's room. It was pink and flamboyantly decorated, as to be expected of a ten year old girl. They investigated the room thoroughly. 

Dean found something first and crouched by the side of the bed. "Hey, check this out." Sam went over to look. There was fine sand scattered around a vent. 

"Well that's unusual." 

"Yeah. Plus the kid sleeping through her parents' murder? There's definitely something here." 

"Yeah, just need to find out what."


	12. Chapter 12

They got a room at a motel and settled in to research. Sam was on his laptop trying to find what they're up against while Dean flipped through any and all books they had looking for a way to make the demons lose their scent. 

Not too long after they got started, Dean announced that he was starving and briefly vanished, reappearing about a minute later with a greasy brown paper bag. Sam shook his head as Dean devoured his third cheeseburger of the day. "You're going to have a heart attack." He commented without any real concern. 

Dean smiled and his eyes flashed black for a split second, "no I'm not." He'd gotten much better with controlling his eyes changing. However, getting better at controlling it meant doing it a lot more often, something that made Sam pretty uneasy. But he supposed he'd have to get used to it also. He just went back to his research as Dean pulled out a bag of french fries. 

"Might not want to do that." 

Dean popped one into his mouth before he was able to notice the stinging on his fingers. "Why no—" he instantly yelped in pain and spit out the fry, coughing and frantically wiping off any remaining salt, then just stared at it as if it had betrayed him. 

Sam couldn't stop laughing. Dean was not at all amused. He jabbed a finger at the bag, "That is not funny." 

"Actually, yeah, it's pretty damn funny." 

"You're a jerk." Dean pushed the fries toward Sam with a pencil and went back to work. 

After a while of research, Sam perked up. "Hey, check this out." He turned the laptop toward Dean. 

"Wha'd'ya got?" 

"A sandman." 

"Sandman? I thought that was just a fairytale." 

"Well there's more lore on them than you'd expect. They go into kids rooms at night and sprinkle sand over their eyes." 

"Not creepy at all." 

"And that gives the kid good dreams. Well that's the fairytale, anyway. But then I came across this," he clicked to another page, "and it says here that the sand puts kids into a deep sleep while it feeds off of their nightmares." 

"Okay, that explains all the sand, but what about the dead parents?" 

"Well when the kid doesn't have any more bad dreams to feed off of, it'll create more. Seeing their parents cut up like that, that'll scar a kid for life." 

"Sounds like our guy. Say anything about how to kill it?" 

"I'll keep looking." 

It got to about 1 am before Dean insisted Sam get some sleep. He needed his energy. They still hadn't found anything on how to kill the sandman. However, an hour or so after Sam fell asleep, Dean uncovered how to make hex bags to act as a sort of demon invisibility cloak. It wouldn't be able to stop normal tracking, but demons wouldn't be able to just sense them anymore. It was a start. He carefully poured a line of salt around Sam's bed before disappearing to collect ingredients.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean threw Sam's suit on him to wake him up. 

"Get dressed." 

"Where are we going?" 

"Detective Asylum-" 

"Alyssum," 

"Whatever. She called, the kid went missing." 

"The sandman took her?" 

"Probably." 

Sam got up, noticing the salt line around his bed. "Did you leave last night?" 

"Briefly, I had to go get some stuff." 

"What stuff? Your rules, we're not separated." 

"I wasn't gone for long, and you were safe enough." 

"What did you need to get?" 

Dean threw a small bag at him. "Hex bags. It'll stop the demons from finding us. Well, it'll delay them. They can still normally track us, so keep your head low." 

Sam looked impressed, "good digging." They arrived at the police station and sauntered in proudly like the day before. They were greeted at the door by an angry looking Detective Alyssum. 

"Hello, boys. Now, we could do this the easy way where you let us cuff you and take you in quietly, or," they became aware of the officers standing behind them, "we could do it the hard way, where you get 50,000 volts. Which will it be?" 

Sam put his hands behind his back and was quickly cuffed. Dean, on the other hand, couldn't resist making a sarcastic comment: "I don't know, option two sounds kinda kinky." Needless to say, he got option two. 

....... 

When Dean recovered, both he and Sam were in a holding cell. Sam looked at him with mild amusement. 

"Do you enjoy being tased?" 

"Didn't hurt. Why are we in here, anyway? Maybe she looked into our badges, saw that they were fake?" 

"Or maybe they recognized me." 

"Yeah, you said vamps, what happened?" 

Sam sighed, "They kind of found me with a machete after I took a couple out. They caught me and took prints. I got away, but they've probably been looking for me." 

"So they're probably going to catch you up on murder charges. I could just get us out of here, but I don't wanna have to reason with hunters if word gets out that we just disappeared from jail. We should –" 

Before he could finish, two officers walked in. They opened the cell and Sam and Dean were escorted to separate rooms. 

*in Sam's room* 

Sam was sat in a chair and handcuffed to the table. He hated this, the feeling of being watched without being able to see who was watching him. He tried to look as relaxed as possible when Alyssum walked in with a thick folder Sam suspected was full of police reports. She plopped the folder on the table and sat across from him. 

"I was a little skeptical when I called in your badges. The guy was fine: rude and condescending like you expect from an FBI supervisor. The thing is, I could have sworn I heard screaming in the background just before he hung up on me. I thought 'well that's weird' so I called in a few favors, and just guess what I found? Agents 'Tyler' and 'Hamilton' don't exist. There's one for impersonating a federal agent." She stood and started to circle the table. "You know, I thought I recognized you when you walked in here. APB put out on a murder suspect a few months ago." She pulled a paper from the file and read from it, "Male, Caucasian, long brown hair, muscular, about 6'5". Then I found the arrest report," she put the paper on the table and slid it toward him. There was a picture of him. "Sam Winchester. Look familiar? That's a charge for beheading three people," she made a disgusted face. "You escaped, no one knows how. Three accounts of murder in the first plus evading arrest. But wait, there's more," she grabbed the file from the table, "I looked into your profile and it turns out you've got _quite_ a record. It appears that you and your brother Dean have been arrested three times. Twice you were both pronounced dead at the station, and the one time they actually got you to prison, you escaped. And the charges you were caught on," she rattled off a list from the folder, "burglary, breaking and entering, credit card fraud, impersonating federal officers, impersonating state officials, grave desecration, torture, and multiple additional accounts of murder in the first for your brother. Not to mention that almost all of the officials that have arrested you 'mysteriously' ended up dead." She dropped the file back onto the table, "and even with all of that, you have the _audacity_ to walk in here with obvious aliases, claiming to be FBI in order to get on a case you have no part in." She leaned her palms on the table. "I think I've stumbled on quite a find, wouldn't you say?" 

*in Dean's room* 

Dean was currently wishing he wasn't being watched so he could just disappear, grab Sam, and be gone. He was escorted in, locked up, and told to wait. 

To stave off boredom, he kept shouting at the people he could feel standing behind the one-way mirror: "could I get a snack?", "You just gonna stand there watching me?", and when he heard whispers, he decided to freak them out a bit by answering them. 

Eventually, he got bored and just picked one person and stared at them intently until they left. He did this until Alyssum walked in. 

"Ah, finally. I've been waiting for you to show up, sweetheart." 

"Don't call me sweetheart. I was talking to your brother when they told me I was needed in here because you were 'intimidating officers'." 

Dean grinned widely at a random person behind the glass and immediately felt a spike of fear from them as they left. He refocused on Alyssum. "So what'd you get out of him?" 

She was silent for a second, "he didn't say anything." 

"Smart kid." Dean said under his breath. 

"Are you aware of the kind of trouble you're in here? Not only do we have you on impersonating federal agents, we also have all of your previous charges, including the murders in St. Louis and Baltimore and your brother's in Cincinnati. Seven years ago, you faked your own death. Pretty effectively too, looks like you had everyone fooled." 

He just shrugged. "You do what you gotta do. Look, however you wanna see it, Sam and me have been out there saving your asses our whole lives and you never even knew it." 

"There's another thing. In all of the interrogations, you two seem to think you're some sort of vigilantes. And it's always justified with some crazy story about ghosts or demons or something." 

"It's the truth. Most people just can't handle it." 

"You've been called monsters, I'm inclined to think the same. You'll be in prison by morning."


	14. Chapter 14

Dean was left alone in his little room, though he could feel Alyssum and someone else just behind the glass. He leaned back in his chair (as far as the handcuffs would allow) and put his legs up on the table, listening in on the whispered conversation just outside. 

_"What do you plan to do with them?"_ a male voice Dean hadn't heard before. 

_"Well we just caught the Winchesters, we can't just let them escape."_ That was Alyssum. 

_"They're not going to escape. They won't try, there's cameras on them."_

_"That's never stopped them before. These two are some sort of professionals. DA says we won't be able to take them in until morning."_

_"We'll have armed guards watch them on shifts overnight. They won't get out, I'll promise you that."_

There was a brief silence. _"If any guards end up dead, it's on us."_

_"It'll be fine. These two maniacs will be gone before you know it."_

"I resent that!" Dean yelled from inside the room. He felt Alyssum suddenly become afraid. 

She whispered to the man as they walked away, _"He keeps doing that. I don't know how he can hear us…"_

Dean chuckled. Not five minutes after they left, a guard came in. Dean looked straight at him through the mirror. "Hey." Dean felt the guard's fear raise. "You don't have to be afraid of me. If you're going to be sitting there all night, we can at least chat. It's boring in here." 

The guard hit the microphone button, "I'm not here to chat, I'm here to make sure you don't escape." 

"Yeah, well good luck with that." The guard ignored him. "You know, if I want out, I'm out." 

"Yeah, well good luck with that." 

Dean sat in silence for a good two hours or so before he felt it. A demon. He patted his pockets frantically. The hex bag was gone. "Hey, guard! I had a bag. A little black bag, where did they put it?" 

"They took everything while you were out, guns, knives, lock picks. You were pretty armed." 

Dean slammed his fist on the table, "the bag! Where did they put the bag?!" 

"I don't know, in evidence probably. Why is it so important?" 

Dean leaned forward stared intently at the guard. "Listen to me," he said gravely, "if you don't get out of here within the next two minutes, you're going to die." 

"Are you threatening me? I'm not going to leave so you can escape. I'm staying right here where I can keep an eye on you." 

"Listen, you need to get out of here!" 

"This is a really bad master escape plan. What happened to 'If I want out, I'm out.'?" 

"Fine." Dean said. The lights flickered off momentarily. When they came back on, Dean was gone. 

The guard gaped at the empty room. He pulled out his gun and slowly advanced toward the one way mirror. A voice came from behind him, "see. Now I'm out. You should really get going." The guard spun to face the voice and reflexively fired his gun, hitting Dean in the arm. The demon glanced at the bullet hole with some annoyance, then turned black eyes back to the wide-eyed guard. "I suggest you get smart and run now. If you like your job, you won't tell anyone about this." The guard shot Dean a few more times in the chest before running straight out of the building. 

Dean made a quick stop in evidence for the weapons and hex bags, then appeared next to Sam (who was dosing off in his chair) and wasted no time in teleporting both of them back to the impala. A minute later, they were on the road back to the motel. Sam woke with a start, "what happened?" 

"They took our hex bags and the demons found us. They're coming. Call Bobby and see if he can get someone else to finish the job, we can't do it with demons and the police after us." Sam nodded and did so. 

When they got back to the motel, Sam waited in the car while Dean gathered their belongings. They were on their way out of Dayton within three minutes.


	15. Chapter 15

Bobby searched high and low for any demons he could find. In a week, he'd scouted out four. Two claimed not to know anything, one refused to talk at all. The latest one was different, however. 

The demon was tied up in Bobby's basement, devil's trap and all. It was possessing an unthreatening, middle-aged truck driver. It was exceptionally well behaved off the bat, not spitting threats or mocking him, just calmly watching him. 

Bobby took a deep breath and readied himself for another interrogation. 

"I need information." 

"I'm afraid information's a bit valuable." 

Bobby ignored it, "I need everything you know about a demon called Dean Winchester." 

The demon looked slightly confused, then grinned widely. "Winchester, right, we never really use the human name. Yeah I know him. Personally. Knew him about a hundred fifty years, right up until he ran away." 

This piqued Bobby's interest. "What do you know about him?" 

"I only met him after he took over. I was just an underling to him, but he was a hell of a lot better than the last boss." 

Well that sure sounded like something Dean would be hiding; anyone in charge of anything downstairs was pretty bad news. "Took over what?" 

The demon responded with a sly grin, "let's just say I really wouldn't wanna get on his bad side." That was true of Dean as a human as well, but he had a feeling that this was a little more ominous. He'd try to get more information once the demon stopped talking freely. "I bet he was a hunter, am I right? There were a few demons down there who weren't too happy to see him. But he was a soulful young thing. I never really understood it. He never seemed to give up his humanity. Most of us, once we turn, we just forget our old lives. Live in the moment kind of thing, you know? But not him, he was always going on about 'Sammy'. How he didn't deserve to be there, but it was okay because he was there for 'Sammy'. How he wanted to get back upstairs to take care of 'Sammy'." Now that sounded like the Dean he knew, it was the only reassuring information he had so far. "I assume you're asking because he's back?" The demon laughed, "I can't believe he got out. So fast too. I was sure they'd never let him leave." 

"Who's they?" 

It shook its head, "now there's something I'm not at liberty to tell you." 

Bobby grabbed the holy water from the table as a threat. "Tell me, or I'll make you tell me." 

"Greedy, greedy, greedy. I've probably told you enough to make _mi cara magister_ want to kill me already." 

Impatient, Bobby splashed a little holy water at it. That was when the demon lost its composure. It threw back its head and laughed then turned its black eyes on Bobby. "There's nothing you can do here that's even close to what'll happen down there, old man. Those are some big state secrets that I can't just go spouting off. I'll have Hell to pay, you couldn't _begin_ to imagine what they'll do." 

Bobby grabbed a knife from the table. "I'm the one you should be worried about right now. Just tell me what they want with Dean." 

The demon just spat at him. It was going to be a long night. 

....... 

It had been near an hour nonstop. The demon was looking worse for wear and angrier every second, but still hadn't given any more information. Bobby knew he should let it go soon, but what it hinted to know was exactly what Bobby wanted. Another splash of holy water sizzled in his fresh cuts. 

The demon growled in pain, calm facade long gone. It leaned towards Bobby as far as the bindings would allow, eyes black and manic, teeth bared, _"I'm going to rip you open and strangle you with your own intestines."_

"No, you're going to tell me what the demons want with Dean." 

It was quiet for a moment. "It's not what we want. He's got a price on his head." 

"Keep going." 

"He's powerful, and he's young. He's only going to get stronger and stronger and truthfully, they're scared, the big bosses. A demon as strong as Dean Winchester; no one wants that against them. The team he's on is the winning one." 

Before letting it go, he wanted one more question answered, "and what exactly is he in charge of?" 

The demon gave a wide smile, "he's the Grand Inquisitor if you wanna be formal about it. Lay men's terms, he's the best of the best when it comes to torture." 

Bobby, satisfied, finally exorcised the demon. He was then left alone to determine the implications of Dean as a master torturer. He knew that Hell had to hold some dirty secrets, but he never imagined _that._

He ended up calling Sam to brief him on the new information, but he narrowly decided not to say anything about Dean's... status. There was probably a reason Dean was hiding it, perhaps shame or guilt. He decided that, seeing as he only had one demon's account, he shouldn't be the one to tell Sam. He told Sam about what the demon had said, 'the team he's on is the winning one', and simply advised him to ask about Hell a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As little latin phrases pop up, I'm going to he adding translations at the end of the chapter, so:
> 
> mi cara magister - my dear master


	16. Chapter 16

Sam and Dean were on their way to anywhere but Ohio. Dean stopped to get gas and Sam went inside for snacks and came back with a newspaper, brandishing the headline: 

UNION CITY MYSTERIES CONTINUE 

"Apparently, there have been a bunch of weird things happening in Union City, Pennsylvania." 

"Our kind of weird?" 

Sam nodded and read through the article, "guy went missing then showed up a few days later swearing he'd been abducted by aliens, a hiker taken by Bigfoot, someone mauled by their friend's seven cats, woman dies of spider bites in a spider-free house, the list goes on." 

"Sounds interesting. Let's go." 

Union City was about thirty miles north of where they'd stopped. It was an industrial and old looking place with its fair share of abandoned buildings. Empty stretches of highway connected groupings of fast-food joints, gas stations, and various small businesses. 

"Pretty sure the cops will be too clueless to help here," Dean started once they found a motel and settled in, "so I say we just skip to witnesses. Who do we have?" 

"Well it looks like most of them are dead aside from the abduction victim and the girlfriend of the hiker who says she saw him get taken." 

"I'd say the actual vic is a good place to start. I don't wanna call it too early, but come on. Alien abduction? Killer cats? And I mean, any hunter worth their salt knows Bigfoot isn't real. This is really looking like a trickster to me." 

Sam shrugged, "might be. I'm sure there'd be more than the one we met before. We should still check it out to make sure." 

"Let's get going then." 

....... 

Sam and Dean arrived at an apartment over an Italian restaurant, dressed as FBI agents. A scrawny 20some-year-old answered the door. He was in sweatpants and a baggy red tee with a small off-white blanket draped over his shoulders. "What do you want?" He asked irritably. 

Dean flashed his badge, "I'm Agent Hetfield and this is Agent Hammet, we're with the FBI. We'd like to talk to you about what happened." 

"About getting abducted? I've already gone through it with the police." 

Sam chimed in, "we'd just like to ask you a few questions of our own." 

Felix nodded and led them inside. There was sci-fi memorabilia cluttering the small apartment and a bulletin board full of newspaper clippings of UFO sightings on the wall. They sat on a worn sofa and Felix pulled up a kitchen chair. 

"So could you tell us a little bit about what happened to you?" Sam asked. 

Felix shook his head slightly, immediately defensive, "look, I know that you probably think I'm some crazy delusional geek who watched one too many episodes if the X-Files," Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced around at the various props and figurines around them, "but I know what happened, and all I can say for sure is that I was abducted. I was just taking out my trash and there was this intense light. I blacked out and when I woke up, I was strapped to a table with aliens all around. They even cut me open, right here." He pulled up his shirt to reveal a long diagonal scar from left shoulder to right hip. 

They talked for about five more minutes then were on their way. 

"So what do you think?" Sam asked as they walked back to the car. 

"I think the guy's 31 flavors of crazy." 

"But what about the scar?" 

"It was a scar," Dean dismissed, "something as big as that doesn't heal in a month. It was probably something that happened as a kid. I'm not saying nothing happened though. There's definitely some weird mojo in this town. Are we calling it a trickster yet?" 

"Probably, but we should keep looking just to make sure, maybe get some clues on how to find it." 

"Fair enough. Who's next?" 

"Terri Moore, boyfriend kidnapped by Bigfoot." 

....... 

Terri Moore lived in a quaint and clean home in the tightly packed neighborhood just outside town. She let them inside without any difficulty. 

"I don't know what to say about it. John was really into that kind of stuff, I always thought it was just a myth," she said. 

"It's alright, just tell us what you saw." Sam said easily, not wanting to upset her past giving them answers. 

She gulped, "John and I always go — went — on hikes through the forest preserve twice every week. Nothing ever happened to us before. But, we were hiking through the woods an it just came out of nowhere." 

"What did?" 

"Bigfoot. We ran away and it chased us," she sobbed a bit, "I heard John yell for help, but I was so scared, I just kept running. When I stopped, he was gone." 

"Could you describe it?" Dean asked. 

"Describe it?" She repeated, sounding confused. 

"Well you said you saw it right? Just tell us what it looked like." 

"Um, it was, it was really tall, like eight or nine feet, and it was brown and hairy. Like all those 'Bigfoot sighting' things you see. I don't know. I was scared, I ran away," she sounded close to tears. "Maybe if I didn't run, John would still be here..." The last part was mostly to herself. 

Sam announced that they would leave her alone and they let themselves out. 

""Describe it"?" Sam asked incredulously once they were out the door. 

"What," Dean shrugged, "I was curious." 

"She's devastated. A little empathy would be nice." 

"Demon, Sammy," Dean reminded him with a flash of black eyes, "empathy isn't exactly hardwired in demons like it is in humans. Sorry." He didn't sound all too sorry; if anything, slightly annoyed. Dean picked up his pace to get to the car. Sam was left lagging behind, wondering what other quintessential human traits Dean was lacking. As well as how much of his demonic nature would surface.


	17. Chapter 17

It was getting dark when they were done with the witnesses. They had no location to investigate but the nearby forest preserve, so they decided to go there. 

They pulled into the empty parking lot and started towards the forest. It was warm and fog was starting to rise from the moist ground and swirl around the unbelievably tall trees. Both Sam and Dean found the forest somewhat familiar, but since neither could quite place why, neither said anything. They walked somewhat aimlessly down the thin path, Sam waving the EMF detector back and forth. 

"Do you really think we'll find anything out here?" Sam asked after a few uneventful minutes. 

"Well it's the only lead we've got. Might as well keep looking." 

After twenty minutes more of walking, they were deep in the woods. Any light was blocked by the heavy foliage. Sam was about to suggest they head back when they heard a loud crack off in the trees. Dean pulled out his gun, "what was that?" It was followed by a loud crunch, whoosh, and thud. A tree being knocked over. 

"I'll go check it out." Sam ducked into the trees and ran after the noise that seemed to be destroying a path through the forest. 

"Sam!" Dean called after him. He didn't respond. _"Damnant, haedum est iustus id quaerere,"_ Dean murmured to himself as he started after him. 

....... 

The noise halted as soon as Sam reached a wide clearing. He heard Dean calling after him and turned to see him catch up. 

"What the hell, Sam? You can't just run off like that." 

"Well sorry, I'm just trying to catch this thing." 

"I told you not to get separated." Dean was starting to sound angry. "You need to start listening to me." 

"Dude, I'm sorry. I thought I might be able to catch up to it." 

Dean started to angrily advance on him. "You're such a pain in the ass Sam, you know that? I ask you to do one thing, and you can't listen. I'm tired of it." 

"What are you talking about? Calm down." 

"I am calm," Dean shouted angrily, "I've been doing my best to be calm the whole time I've been back to save your delicate little feelings. But you know what? I'm angry Sammy. You left me in Hell for nine hundred years. That's a lot of time to think, and I kept going back to how much you slowed me down. You're not even a good hunter, you're just my whiny little brother who can't do what he's told. I kept thinking how much better it would be if you were just dead. I'm done putting on a show for you." 

Dean's eyes turned black as he punched Sam as hard as he could across the jaw. He stumbled back a few steps and, before he could see what was happening, was grabbed by the collar and beaten until he was dizzy. He fell to the ground, spitting out the blood collecting in his mouth. His eye was swelling shut and he was pretty sure his nose was broken. Sam looked up at his brother to find that he was actually _smiling._ It was a cruel and twisted smile, but it was obvious that he was enjoying this. It was terrifying. Dean landed a hard kick in Sam's gut that suddenly made breathing difficult and sent him rolling, then supernaturally flicked him onto his feet. "At least stand up and fight! Or are you so pathetic you can't even defend yourself?" Another wave of Dean's hand sent Sam flying against a tree on the opposite side of the clearing, eliciting a cry of pain and the sickening crack of a bone. He crumpled to the ground coughing and trying to catch his breath. The only thought he could process through the pain was that this wasn't Dean anymore, this was what he'd been fearing from the beginning: Dean had given in and become just another insane and homicidal demon. 

Sam was slowly dragged up off the ground, the tree he was pinned to scraping into his back. He was pulled a few feet off the ground then stopped. He forced himself to focus and saw Dean in front of him, open palm supernaturally holding him to the tree, a cruel grin plastered to his face. 

"Please." Sam whimpered. "Don't do this. This isn't you." 

Dean's small grin stretched wide into a terrifying smile. "No. Not anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damnant, haedum est iustus id quaerere - damn, the kid's just asking for it


	18. Chapter 18

Even though he should have only been a few steps behind, Sam was nowhere to be found. Dean closed his eyes and listened intently. Nothing. He opened his eyes and suddenly found himself in an entirely different part of the forest. His heart started pounding as he realized why this all seemed so familiar. This was the same forest from Sam's nightmare. 

Dean searched frantically, remembering the end of the dream. He ran seemingly in circles. He screamed at the top of his lungs, no response. Then, he remembered how he got around in the dream. He stopped, closed his eyes, and focused just on Sam. Sure enough, he could hear him. Grunts and screams of pain in his head. He focused on them until they became real. He opened his eyes and, there, in a clearing not too far away, he saw Sam pinned to the tree, just like before. He could hear them saying the exact same things as in the dream. As soon as he heard himself, "not anymore", he appeared in the clearing. 

"Get the hell away from my brother, you evil son of a bitch." He raised his arm for an attack. However, before he could do anything, the other Dean dropped Sam from the tree and promptly disappeared without a trace. Dean stared for a second before rushing to Sam's side. 

"Sammy? You okay? Talk to me." 

He only groaned a bit, barely conscious. 

"Come on, we're getting you to a hospital." He quickly teleported both of them back to the car, carefully lay Sam in the backseat, and sped off. 

....... 

Sam woke up groggily. He looked around, slowly taking stock of his surroundings: he was in a hospital room, Dean's jacket draped over a chair right next to the bed. His arm was in a cast and he was hooked up to a few different machines. He tried to sit up and quickly became aware of a throbbing pain in his head, reminding him of his condition. And how it happened. When Dean walked in with two cups of coffee, Sam flinched into the bed. 

"Get away from me," he said through his teeth, desperately wishing he had either somewhere to run or enough strength to fight. 

"It's fine," Dean replied, nonchalantly walking across the room and sitting in the chair, "I'm not going to hurt you. Just let me explain." He set one coffee cup on the bedside table and took a sip from the other. 

Sam watched him warily, not sure whether or not to trust him. Dean went on, "I told them you were mugged. You were here all night, I stayed to make sure you were safe." Now Sam was confused. Why would Dean beat him senseless then take him to the hospital? "We definitely have a trickster here. Lucky us, we already know how to kill them." He pulled the tip of a stake out of the bag. "I'm working on finding it now. I'll take care of it, you're going to stay here and get better." 

Sam still couldn't quite think straight, he just looked at him in disbelief. "You almost beat me to death," he gritted his teeth, "and now you're just going back to the case like nothing happened?" 

"That wasn't me," he explained calmly, "It was the trickster, something he created. I had nothing to do with it. In fact, I saved you from it." 

Sam nodded, though didn't quite allow himself to relax. "How are we going to find it?" 

"I'll figure it out. You have a concussion, a broken nose, broken arm, and three cracked ribs. You're not going anywhere." 

"I want to help. I'll be fine." 

"Gotta say no, sorry." 

"Well you were able to fix me up before, can't you just do that again?" 

Dean shook his head slightly, "I could probably fix the concussion and get rid of some bruising, but you're on your own with the broken bones." 

"I can manage. I almost died out there by myself, Dean. Tricksters mess with your mind. We have to be together to keep each other in check." 

Dean thought about this for a moment. "Fine," he said finally. "I'll see if I can get them to let you out." 

....... 

Dean managed to not only get Sam out, but also somehow dodge the bill. They were back at the motel within ten minutes. Dean did his best to heal what he could, clearing up any cuts, scratches, bruises, and his broken nose, as well as completely curing the concussion. As predicted, the broken bones were too much for him to completely heal, but he was able to make the cracked ribs less painful. Afterwards, they were both occupied with where to find or how to summon a trickster. Well, Sam wasn't exactly sure what Dean was doing. He was lying on a bed with his palms pressed to his forehead. 

"You wanna help out?" 

Dean didn't move. "I am helping," he mumbled, uninterested. 

"Doesn't look like it," Sam said under his breath, briefly forgetting that Dean could clearly hear him anyway. 

"I'm looking for the trickster." 

"How?" 

He sat up, looking annoyed, "I'm not really sure how it works, but that thing back there — I don't know, but it gave off some kind of energy. So I figure, if I can find that, I can find the trickster. It's hard though, there's traces of it everywhere, I just have to find out where it's coming from. But I'm close, so just give me a minute." With that, he quickly resumed his position. 

Sam laughed, "okay Miss Cleo." 

Dean mumbled under his breath, "won't be laughing when I find him." 

....... 

About twenty minutes of silence later, Dean sprung to his feet. "Got him, let's go." 

"Are we going to actually get there normally?" 

"Nope, we're in a hurry." Dean said, just before teleporting them to a random street corner. There were a lot of people on that particular sidewalk, the trickster could be any one of them. 

"Great, who is it?" 

"Hold on." Dean was staring intently across the street at a woman running with a dog. 

"Do you really think this is the time to be scoping out girls?" 

"No, just wait." The woman stopped for a quick rest. Nothing unusual. Until a man walked past, staring warily at the dog and sidestepping to avoid it. Suddenly, the dog went nuts; growling and barking at him. The man started running and the dog broke free of its leash and followed after him. 

Instead of watching this, Dean started scanning the area. He found what he was looking for and hit Sam's arm to get his attention. 

"What?" 

"There." Dean pointed to a man in a suit with white-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes leaning against the brick wall of a bookstore not thirty feet away. He had a good vantage point for the incident and looked on with amusement. 

They started towards him. Noticing them, he ducked into the nearby alley. Sam and Dean both started running after him and followed him into one of the several abandoned buildings. When they got inside, where the trickster ought to have been, it was empty. Both walked farther into the room and the door slammed behind them. "Why are you following me?" came a voice from behind them. They turned and saw the trickster in a luxurious chair that definitely wasn't there before, sipping from a large mug. 

Sam spoke up, "you're the trickster, right?" 

"Loki, god of tricks, mischief, deception, and lies, at your service. Anyone makes a reference to the marvel comics, I will make you die a slow and painful death," he said with a genuine smile. 

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That how you introduce yourself?" 

"Lately, yes." Two more chairs materialized in front of him. "Come, sit. Let's talk like civilized people. Oh, and leave your stakes over there. I'm not exactly keen on being stabbed today, thank you." 

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and reluctantly went to sit with him. Dean began, "what are you doing here?" 

"Passing time, having fun." 

"You call murdering multiple people 'fun'?" Sam asked. 

"Yes, loads. Humans are my favorite playthings. You're all so scared of life. So I dig around in people's heads, find what they're most afraid of, and sick it on them." 

"Why?" 

"Because I have an almost unlimited life span and I get bored. My favorite part is when they see that what they're afraid of is actually happening. I pick the strangest fears so I get the added bonus of watching the police running around like chickens with their heads cut off." Loki took a sip from his mug before continuing. "Then you two come into town. You really are quite interesting. Been through a lot, yeah? You, Sasquatch," he shot Sam a lopsided grin, "you have almost too many nightmares to sift through. How do you live like that?" He then turned to Dean, "And you're not even human anymore, are you pretty boy?" 

"Get out of my head." Dean said angrily. 

Loki simply shook his head and closed his eyes. "How does it feel to be Hell's most wanted?" Sam eyed Dean with confusion. Loki opened his eyes and stared at Dean. "When were you planning to tell your brother here why you're being followed? Don't you think he deserves to know? But you have got quite a dark past there, it's really no wonder you haven't said anything about it. Humans just don't understand things like you and I," he said with sly and knowing grin. "Funny," he continued before Dean could protest, gesturing to Sam, "your biggest fear is seeing your brother become a monster," then to Dean, "and yours is letting him see you for the monster you are. It seems I don't even need to interfere here. Good day, gentlemen. I genuinely hope we will not be seeing each other again." With that, he disappeared, chairs and all, leaving Sam and Dean alone.


	19. Chapter 19

Dean brought them back to the motel as soon as the trickster disappeared. He was rambling, obviously avoiding the subject at hand. "I don't think we'll be able to find him again. Not here at least. We should get moving, anyway. Where to next?" 

"Dean." 

"How about New York? I've always wanted to go to New York." 

"So are we just not going to talk about this? What happened to getting things out in the open?" 

"Hey, I already know how you feel about this. We don't have anything to talk about." He started out the door. 

Sam grabbed his arm to stop him. "Yes, we do. And you know it." 

"Fine, can we at least get on the road first though. Shouldn't stay here too much longer. 

They left and were quickly on the road. There was a tense silence and Sam realized that he'd have to speak first. 

"So are you going to tell me what he was talking about." 

He hesitated, "What first?" 

"How about 'Hell's most wanted'?" 

"Right." He sighed, "I didn't even really know it until that demon showed up. I guess I should have. I mean, not to blow my own horn but, I'm pretty great. I really had to work to be able to do all that stuff, you know. Figured some new tricks might be helpful when I got topside. Well, turns out it's not supposed to be that easy. It takes most demons a couple thousand years to do all the things I can, and that's if they're lucky. News spreads real fast down there, I gained a lot of respect, quite a few enemies. You really don't want enemies in Hell. They can't kill you, but they have a lot of time to think up new forms of torture. Things that make you wish you could die, and, let me tell you, demons are _really_ inventive. Some found me, and let's just say I took care of them. The rest kind of dropped off the grid after that. I was feeling pretty good, no one could touch me. I was thinking of Hell as a good thing." He looked a bit shameful, "I was pretty much gone for a while there, I was starting to forget what it was like up here and I didn't even care. That was when the big bosses found me. They talked to me about some plan they had to wipe out Humanity. They wanted me to help, said I 'had promise'. They were asking me to join their side. I didn't really know why at the time, but I couldn't do it. I sure as hell wasn't going to fight them, so I ran as fast as I could. Kept going until I was all the way out. I guess that probably pissed them off too. Most aren't strong enough to climb out in a hundred years and I did it in twenty. I spent a lot of time just figuring things out, trying to remember why I was still fighting against them. Wasn't until I got back up here that I realized I forgot almost everything before Hell. All I remembered was you, that I was in Hell for you. I tracked you down and I was going to try to get some answers, but luckily I saw the car first. Saw the amulet in the window. Didn't know why, but it felt familiar, so I took it. Everything came back when I found my body though. Finding you really got me back on track. I don't want to know what might have happened otherwise." 

Sam didn't really know how to respond, it was a lot to take in. He stammered out, "Dean, I – I mean I didn't –" 

"No, you have a right to know. Everything that happened down there, and that's not even the bad stuff, it just doesn't bother me as much as it probably should. It just feels like I've been through so much, I've done so much, nothing worse can happen." 

"So what Loki said, that you're like him–" 

"Probably true, but that's a story for a different time. That's the stuff you really don't want to hear about, believe me." 

Neither said anything for a long time, just giving Dean's story time to sink in. After a while, Sam realized a very important detail Dean had casually added. "Wait, you said the demons had a plan to wipe out humans?" 

"I did say that, didn't I?" 

"Well why didn't you bring this up before? You didn't think it was important?" 

"I was getting to it." 

"Getting to it? Dean, this is big. We should have been working on this instead of a bunch of small cases." 

"Small cases? There aren't any small cases in our line of work. I kind of wanted to get back to saving people for a bit rather than–" he cut himself short before saying any more about Hell, Sam had heard enough for one day. "Whatever. I just knew that we had time. They were talking about it happening in a few decades. Hell time, that means we have a few months. I wasn't hiding this from you. I just wanted things to be normal for a little bit." 

Sam had no response. Before this whole talk, he was actually starting to trust Dean. But now, discovering that Dean was hiding so much from him, he wasn't really sure if he should. Sure, he knew there would be some pretty bad Hell stories, but the fact that Dean had completely forgotten who he was was honestly frightening. Demons that forget being human had a tendency to become absolute monsters, inhuman killing machines. The thought that Dean was so close to that fate was honestly disturbing. And then what he'd said about coming to find Sam was truly frightening: that he was going to "get some answers" but _luckily_ he got distracted first. Something like that from a demon, especially before he remembered who he was, almost directly translated to torture. But he did eventually remember, and he obviously wasn't like any other demon Sam had met. After this talk though, Sam was suspicious of what else he may be hiding and somewhat reluctant to start trusting him again.


	20. Chapter 20

Two weeks and three days later

It was night when he arrived, a cliché of dark and ominous skies, ready to downpour at any moment. He gazed across the empty parking lot from his post just in the shadows of the feeble spread of trees. The place looked innocent enough, a four-story office building with brick walls and far too many windows, closed blinds behind all of them prevented him from seeing inside. Even so, he knew what lurked there. 

Demons. Lots of them. He could feel them, the strong ones in particular. Recognized the suffocating presence. There were two of those up on the second floor. The other thirty or so ordinary ones were posted at doorways and wandering around inside. Foot soldiers, pawns that thought they had a purpose in the plan aside from bait and strategic sacrifice. 

He walked up to the main entrance calmly. The two guards there advanced on him, but were easily thrown out of the way with a flick of his hand. He continued into the building, sauntering with no urgency in the direction of the office which held the strongest demons. Sure, he could have simply appeared in the room, but nonchalantly killing his way through the halls seemed a more dramatic and fitting entrance. He had no problem taking care of these demons, he was exponentially stronger, killing them was as easy as swatting flies. 

He finally arrived just outside the door, a trail of bodies in his wake. Rather than open it, he knocked it down without touching it. He knew that he really needed to make an impact on them, the big bosses, after his prior weakness. 

There were two people inside, a man in a suit seated behind a wooden desk and a woman leaning on the wall behind him. Both looked up in surprise when the door fell in. The man sat back and looked at him curiously, then with recognition. 

"Ah, it's _you,_ isn't it? Dean," he said fondly, "I should have known you'd show up eventually. So, what are you here for? To fight us," he stood and stepped around the desk, "or to join us?" 

Dean smirked, eyes glossing over black, "I want in. So do you want me on your side or not?" 

The demon shook his head slightly, "I don't know. You were pretty blunt in turning down our offer before. I don't know if you can handle it." 

Dean sighed, "come on, don't mess with me, Marik. Am I in or not? I know you want my help." 

The woman, Iris, chimed in, "well we're not so sure you can be trusted. A little birdie told me that you're back with your baby brother." She clicked her tongue in disapproval and started to make a slow circle around Dean, "I hope you're not going back to what you did when you were human. Because if so," she trailed a finger on his shoulder, "we'd have no choice but to end you." 

He didn't react further than following her with his eyes. "You need me on your team and you know it. The newest super-demon," he directed his black eyes to Marik, "I've got a lot to offer. Think about it." 

Iris went to stand next to Marik. They exchanged a long look and probably some silent conversation. Marik turned his now deep red-black eyes on Dean, appraising him. He slowly crossed the room to Dean, still calmly standing just inside the door. He outstretched a hand and Dean tensed for an attack. 

On the contrary, Marik reached for a handshake in true form of the business man he was wearing. Dean grasped it in quick response. 

"Welcome to the winning team, Dean Winchester."


	21. Chapter 21

Two days earlier 

Sam and Dean went on quite a few hunts after the incident with Loki before Sam was finally able to convince his brother to face up to the demons' plan. 

"We should go see Bobby," he suggested as they headed back east after taking care of a haunting in Cherokee, Iowa (they never did end up going to New York like Dean had hoped). "Sioux Falls isn't far from here." 

"Sam, I really don't want to see Bobby. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to see me." He turned up the music playing in the background, only to have Sam switch it off. 

"He needs to know about what the demons are planning." 

" _I_ don't even know. I got the hell out of Hell as soon as they mentioned it." 

"We might not know what, but we know that there is a plan, which is a lot more than we've had before. Bobby has connections, he can warn other hunters who'll warn other hunters." 

Dean cut him off, "hold on, let me get this straight, you want to tell every hunter out there to be on the lookout for demons?" 

"Well yeah, pretty much. If this is as big it sounds, we're going to need all the help we can get." 

"And what do you think will happen if we were to, say, run into one of the hundreds of hunters on red-alert for demons? In case you forgot, you're kind of in cahoots with one," he flashed his black eyes briefly to emphasize his point, "Somehow I don't think that will end well. For either of us." 

Truthfully, Sam did sometimes forget. It would slip his mind then come as a surprise and reminder whenever Dean's eyes went black or when he used his arsenal of powers during hunts, though these were now common occurrences. "We could use the help, we'll have a much better chance against them with hundreds of hunters rather than just two or three. You said it yourself, no one even needs to know. The we-don't-know-how-he's-alive-but-look-he's-obviously-not-a-demon story with the sugar and water." 

Dean shook his head. He was fine with putting himself in the firing line, the worst they could do to him is send him back to Hell, but he'd be re-damned if he was going to put Sam in danger. "I don't know. I don't like it." 

"Okay, yeah, it'll be a disaster if anyone finds out, but we'll be careful. You've gotten better at controlling the eye thing, so that won't be a problem. Just don't use any demon tricks around them and it'll be fine. We should at least talk to Bobby." 

His automatic reaction was to fight the notion, but he knew it was no use. "Alright, dammit." He mumbled under his breath, "let's go talk to Bobby." He turned his music back on, indicating the end of the conversation. 

....... 

They got lunch in Sioux Falls before heading to the outskirts of town to Bobby's. Dean parked the impala to the side of the old house and reluctantly got out. When Bobby answered the door, Sam said simply that they needed to talk. Bobby stepped aside and they walked in, Dean carefully avoiding the devil's trap he knew was painted under the doormat. 

"So what is it you want to talk about?" 

Sam looked expectantly at Dean, who stepped forward and responded, "the head demons are planning something big." 

Bobby crossed his arms and looked at him skeptically, "and you know this how?" 

"They told me." 

"What do you mean they told you?" 

"They wanted me to help them." He felt Bobby's sliver of trust start to whittle down and quickly added "I turned them down. Got out of there as fast as I could." 

Bobby hesitated, obviously struggling with trusting Dean. "So what is it?" 

Sam responded, "we're not sure. We just thought we should let you know so you can be ready, maybe tell other hunters so they can be ready too. We have kind of a head start, might as well make the best of it." 

Bobby nodded. "I'll spread the word, then. Anything else?" 

Dean spoke up, "As far as I know, there's two demons behind all this. Really powerful, really dangerous." 

Sam perked up at the new information, "Lilith powerful?" 

"Sort of, but different. They have status. There's a sort of hierarchy in Hell. Lots of different bosses, all pretty bad news. Lilith was more like a princess: first demon, Lucifer's lap dog. Everybody hated her but knew better than to stand up to her. Azazel was kind of the human expert, spent a lot of time up top so no one really had an opinion of him. Alistair is, well used to be, Grand Inquisitor, head of the torture unit." Dean felt Bobby's recognition of the term. He knew something. Dean decided to address it later. "Not going to go into that but let's just say he has a bad reputation for a good reason. Crowley: king of the crossroads. Cocky son of a bitch, but not too bad. And then there's Marik and Iris. They're real close, always work together. They're celebrities down under. Think of themselves as 'freedom fighters'. More like elitists; they hate anything that's not a demon, humans especially. That's who we're up against. When any of the bosses starts something, it's a big deal downstairs. Everyone else comes running to either back them or fight them, but the other big guns usually don't get involved unless there's some personal gain. They were just getting started when they came to talk to me. I guess I kind of worked my way up the ladder, gained some status, so I was their first recruit. They said 'revolution', I said 'hell no' and now here we are." 

Sam and Bobby were both staring at him, not sure whether to be concerned or impressed. Sam piped up, "that's... a lot." 

"I was there for quite a while, you get to know your hell mates pretty well. Down there, you know who's in charge _or else_ . Distinguishing features for these two: they both usually possess people that won't attract attention. Marik always a man, Iris always a woman. Their eyes should look almost like normal demons' but Marik's are slightly red, Iris's are slightly purple. And that's about everything I know." 

Sam nodded. "So we know what to watch out for." 

"But we still don't know what they're doing." Bobby added. 

There was a pause, then Dean broke the silence. "I could find out." 

"How?" 

"Well I'm one of them, aren't I? I could play double agent, see what they're up to." 

"No," Bobby said without hesitation. Sam didn't say anything, but Dean could tell that he felt the same. He knew what they must be thinking, that it was a ploy to actually join the demons, betray the minimal trust he'd worked so hard to gain. 

"You can trust me, Bobby. If I was on their side, do you really think I'd be here, telling you all this?" Neither of them responded. Dean shook his head, annoyed at the complete lack of trust. "Thought you might give me a little more credit than that. Well maybe not Bobby, but you too?" he turned to his brother, who was looking somewhat guilty, "I mean, I get why you shouldn't trust me, but come on. I've saved your ass how many times now?" Dean stopped himself when he started to feel fear coming from the two. "Whatever. You can handle it however you want, I'm out." With that, he disappeared.


	22. Chapter 22

The second Dean was gone, Sam ran outside while Bobby stayed where he was, looking around bewildered. He hadn't seen any of what Dean could do aside from what happened with the Jikininki a while back, so the disappearing act caught him by surprise. Sam returned shortly, looking flustered. 

"Didn't take the car, so he could be anywhere by now." 

"Christ, what else can that boy do?" 

"As far as I know, everything Lilith could short of blowing up a building. He's going to go after those demons. We need to find him." Sam looked just about ready to run out the door. 

"Alright just hold on a minute, we don't even know where he is. You said he could be anywhere. And if he really doesn't want us to find him, he could be anyone. We can't just run out and expect to find him." 

"He's not going to possess anyone, he knows better." 

"You thought he knew better than to go running off too. We're not goin' anywhere yet, so just calm down." Sam sat heavily on the couch and pinched the bridge of his nose, not at all calm. Bobby continued, "look, I care about Dean just as much as you do and I don't want him getting into any trouble, but he's bein' reckless and who knows what he might do. Hate to say it, but we don't have room to get all emotional about this, we gotta handle it just like anything else." 

Sam hated to think of Dean as just another problematic demon, desperately wanted to trust him enough to let him do as he saw fit. But he couldn't deny that there was still some level of doubt that the demon actually had good intentions. Sam sighed and nodded, "you're right. Where do we start?" 

....... 

Dean ended up in some random small town in Texas. He could tell that Marik and Iris weren't out yet, so he just decided to wait for them to show up. It wouldn't be long. 

Honestly, he knew that leaving probably wasn't a great idea. By disappearing like that, he had undoubtedly put the two hunters on his trail. He doubted they'd be able to find him, but if they did, that would surely complicate things. However he also knew that they stood little to no chance against Marik and Iris unless they knew what to expect. Going from the inside was the only way to get a one-up on them, nip the plan in the bud before it can even be initialized. The way he saw it, he just had to leave. Sam and Bobby would have never willingly let him team up with the demons, even if it was strategically the best move available. They were still afraid that Dean was going to go berserk and turn on them. 

Truth be told, a small part of Dean was worried about the same thing. He remembered what happened when he lost it before, when he broke in Hell and completely lost touch with his humanity. He knew that the things he did should horrify him but honestly, he'd enjoyed the power he'd felt. He still did; any small use of his powers was exhilarating, and that scared him. Being with Sam was the main thing keeping him grounded, keeping him human. 

But now he'd made the decision to play double agent, so he couldn't let Bobby and Sam find him. They'd get in the way and it would be too dangerous. Marik and Iris held humans on about the same level of respect as ants, and wouldn't think twice about snapping each of their necks. No, this was a job to do alone. 

This meant that he couldn't stay looking like Dean Winchester, for a number of reasons. First, he needed to be well hidden from Sam and Bobby. They would be looking for him, what he looked like now. Second, it was more than likely that the police were back on his trail after they got busted in Dayton and the last thing he needed was to be tailed by the cops while also playing badass demon, he didn't need to rack up his charges any more. Third, Sam and Bobby were more than likely to follow through with Sam's plan to warn as many hunters as possible. This meant that if he was going to keep hunting after this was all over, he'd have to maintain the human charade with other hunters; a pretty hard thing to do after being caught 'working with' the demons trying to wipe out humanity. 

The simple fact of the matter: he needed a new body. He never wanted to possess anyone, but he needed living memories if we was to keep his head down. Also, people would definitely notice a recent John Doe walking around, especially in such a small town. A corpse just wouldn't do this time. 

He first used his knife to break the binding link tattoo then headed to a seedy bar when it got late to scope out the most miserable-looking drunk. It didn't take long to find the perfect person: about thirty years old, tall, short light brown hair, good muscle build, a bit of stubble haphazardly sprinkled over his chin, and bags under his eyes. He was sitting alone at the very end of the bar staring blankly at his beer bottle. Dean could clearly feel pain and sadness and hopelessness radiating from him, making him very susceptible to possession already. Dean walked over and sat down next to him, beginning conversationally, "Hey man. What's got you down?" 

The man didn't look up when he responded in a half slur, half drawl, "Look, buddy, I'm not really in the talkin' mood, so if you could just go away, that'd be great." 

Dean was undiscouraged, "that bad, huh? What is it? Girlfriend? Family? Job? Come on." He figured it would be easy to coax information out of this man who was already pretty drunk. Of course he didn't plan on getting his new vessel killed, but accidents happen. Just in case, he wanted someone who wouldn't really be missed. 

He chuckled a bit and took a sip of beer, "Ain't got no family. Fiancée left me 'cause I drink too much. Lost my job the same way." 

"Life's looking down, huh?" He nodded and took another long swig. Dean saw his opportunity and pounced at it. "What if I told you that you could be the most important man in the world? You'd just need to do one thing." 

"I'd say sign me up. I got nothin' to lose." 

Dean grinned at his luck. "Well it's your lucky day. Come with me." The man's alcoholically and emotionally impaired judgement worked in Dean's favor. He shakily followed Dean out of the bar's back door and into the alleyway. He stopped when he was sure there was no one else around and turned to the man, slightly nervous as to what he was about to do. 

"Look at me, because I'm being completely serious." The man nodded, starting to look wary of his situation. "I wasn't exaggerating, you will be the most important man on earth if you do this, but you have to be sure." 

He smiled widely, as if anticipating a punch line. "What I gotta do?" 

Dean's eyes switched to black. He was done stalling. "Just don't run away." 

The man instantly sobered and his eyes widened as black smoke violently rushed out of Dean's mouth. He staggered back a few steps as the smoke moved towards him. It shoved itself down his throat and his body went limp, collapsing next to Dean's.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bold italics are Dean's thoughts, italics are his host's.

It was an odd feeling, being in someone else's head. Dean hadn't taken control of the body yet, he wanted to reason with this poor soul first. He wasn't about to just push his consciousness aside and take over. Technically he didn't need permission, but that was the only way he could justify possessing someone. He erased all impairments from the alcohol and the other man's soul came to the surface. Dean could hear his frantic and disoriented thoughts. 

_'What the hell's going on? What happened?'_

Dean bluntly told him the truth. _**'I'm a demon, and I need a body.'**_

Now Dean could feel the fear and panic even more clearly than before. _'A demon? Nononono this isn't real.'_

_**'Sorry, it is. Real actual demon, hell spawn, physical embodiment of sin, the whole shebang.'**_ The man wasn't listening, still trying to convince himself that this was some hallucination. Dean forced his attention with a little mental shock. _**'You don't need to be afraid, I'm not like most. I promise you'll get out of this alive and I'll give you your body back as soon as possible.'**_

He was no longer panicking, but the crippling fear was still there, _'So, what? Am – am I possessed?'_

_**'You will be. I just need you to sign off on your body for a while. If you're worried about going to Hell for this, it's fine. It's not gonna taint your soul or anything if you let me in. Pure soul like yours, you'll still be headed upstairs on judgement day. Trust me'**_

_'Why should I trust you?'_

Dean tried to hide his impatience, not wanting to scare the guy even more. _**'I don't even have to ask permission, you know. I'm just that polite. Anyway, you said you had nothing to lose, right Ted?'**_ He pulled the name from the man's head. 

_'Right. Nothing to lose...'_

_**'You'll be safe. You can be conscious if you want, but most people don't like not being in control.'**_

_'Why me? What do you want me for?'_

Dean was starting to consider skipping the conversation and just taking control by force. _**'Well it had to be someone. I need a body so that I can stop some other demons who aren't nearly as nice as me from taking over the world.'**_

He was pensively silent for a moment, then directed a thought at Dean, _'Go head, then. Do what you gotta do.'_

Finally. _**'Thank you.'**_

Dean slowly gained control of his new body. He opened his black eyes and stood with the assistance of his powers, allowing some time to settle in. He stretched, cracking his neck, opening and closing his hands, adjusting to being taller and altogether larger. He took a few deep breaths and cleared his throat. "Not bad," he said, testing his new voice. He then turned to his own body laying on the ground. He'd have to take care of that. Before doing anything else, he removed his gun, knives, lock picks and miscellaneous other items from his jacket and transferred them to his new outfit. He pulled out a pen and and used it to draw a new possession lock on his left forearm. 

_'What's that?'_

Dean wasn't too surprised that Ted had decided to stay conscious, he had a strong will. He was glad for it, too. A constant human presence in his head would help to keep him on track. He may even make good company. _**'Call it insurance.'**_ He then bent over his body, drawing multiple demon-repelling symbols on it. Ted watched questioningly while he was drawing. 

Dean noticed and grinned to himself. _**'Curious one, aren't you? It's to make sure no other demons can get to this body. I'm planning to come back to it.'**_

_'Well why'd you leave it anyway? Why do you need me?'_

This refreshed Dean's guilt both about leaving Sam and possessing this guy, two things he told himself he'd never do. _**'I'm protecting people who're too stupid to know I'm protecting them.'**_ He felt Ted's discomfort and reassured him, _**'I didn't kill this guy, by the way. He was already dead. You don't have anything to worry about.'**_ He didn't respond. Dean finished drawing the symbols and stashed the pen away. He then slung his body over his shoulder and teleported to a place he knew it'd be safe: his grave site. Ted was disoriented by the sudden shift. _**'You'll get used to that.'**_ Dean commented as he went about digging up his grave. 

The soil was already loose from when he'd previously dug out, so it didn't take much to psychically push it out of the way. He dropped his body and a hex bag into the hole and re-covered it. It was pretty eerie, burying himself. _**'One more time'**_ he warned before teleporting back to Texas. 

He appeared at the door to Ted's house and walked in. It was nice, if a bit cramped: one floor, one bedroom, one bathroom, a small kitchen, and a living room. However small, it was homey and, aside from a few beer cans here and there, pretty clean. There was a cardboard box just inside the door, probably filled with his ex's belongings. 

Ted spoke up again as Dean perused the house. _'Are all demons this well-mannered? Cause far as I can tell, bein possessed ain't all that bad.'_

Dean laughed out loud at his assessment. _**'Believe me, you got a real lucky draw when it comes to demons. Anyone else probably would have killed you by now. Or worse. A popular one is making you watch while you torture and kill people you care about. Normally, it'd be a lot worse.'**_

_'So why're you so different?'_

Dean had to think about this for a moment. _**'Because I don't like monsters. I hunted them for a living, and it just so happened that I became one.'**_

_'Well I wouldn't say so.'_

He chuckled, _**'you don't know me.'**_

After a scan of supernatural activities as thorough as his powers could manage, Dean determined that Marik and Iris weren't topside yet. He decided that the best course of action to avoid drawing hunters' attention would be to keep his head down until the boss demons reared theirs. _**'Alright, I have some waiting to do before I can do anything, so I'm going to cut you a deal. I'll give you your body back for a while, in exchange, you won't try to get rid of me. And just in case you do try, know that I can take over whenever I want, and fair warning, I might not be as nice if you try to renege on our deal.'**_

_'Sounds fair enough.'_ There was some amount of fear there, just enough that Dean felt he didn't have to worry. 

_**'It'll be like I'm not even here. Just know that I'm taking over again when I need to. Not sure when that'll be, but I'll warn you when it comes. Till then, you should avoid salt and iron: long as I'm here, both will burn to the touch. And you probably won't be able to go to church, since demons can't set foot on holy ground. Just act natural and neither of us will get into any trouble.'**_ With that, Dean pushed Ted's consciousness back to the forefront and holed up in the back of his mind, keeping an eye on supernatural activity and waiting patiently.


	24. Chapter 24

There'd be a lot of energy given off when two demons as strong as Marik and Iris popped out, so Dean would be able to find them before there were even any omens, giving him a little head start before Bobby and Sam came running. That being said, he didn't have much to to but wait. He wasn't really interested enough to pay attention to what Ted was doing. He was obviously scared and nervous, but the demon's vague threat was enough to keep his mouth shut. The closest he came to telling anyone was when his ex, Gina, came by to pick up her box of belongings. Before he could say anything, however, Dean issued a simple warning: _**'if she knows, there's no reason for me to keep hiding',**_ and all thoughts of coming clean disappeared. He felt somewhat guilty for practically holding the guy hostage, but even talk of a demon could attract hunters, and that was the last thing he needed to deal with at the moment. Plus, this arrangement was better than just taking over completely. 

His timing with leaving Bobby and Sam couldn't have been better: around noon the very next day, he felt the demons appear. Though definitely far away, the energy released was unmistakable. He traced it to somewhere in Denver, Colorado, but decided to wait a bit and give them time to get bodies, set up shop, and gather their foot soldiers before showing up. Demonic omens would start popping up in around twelve to twenty-four hours, it could take Sam and Bobby up to a day or so after that to track them down if he was lucky and it would be around a twelve hour drive from Sioux Falls. So he figured he had three days at the most to gain Marik and Iris's trust, join in, get all the information, and find a way out. He may be able to take on one, but trying to take them both by himself would be suicide. He would have to find a way to bail without raising suspicion, he really didn't need them on his ass when he went tattling to hunters. That would mean a slow and painful death sentence. 

He was musing on this when Ted spoke up again. _'What're you waitin for, exactly?'_

Up to that point, Dean hadn't shared much of his plan. Seeing as it was about to be put in action, he figured it was due time. _**'I'm technically in hiding right now, but I'm going to get moving soon.'**_

_'Movin where?'_

_**'Colorado. I'm going after some other demons.'**_

_'They like you too?'_

If he could, Dean would have laughed. _**'Not at all. These ones are bad. Real bad. Real monsters. I'm going to join them then turn on them and try not to get either of us killed in the process.'**_

Ted thought about this. _'Why?'_ was all he said, he was getting used to Dean's cryptic answers. 

_**'Saving the world,'**_ Dean responded with humor thinly covering an undertone of grave seriousness, _**'why else?'**_

....... 

Sam and Bobby had no luck to speak of. It was essentially impossible to track down Dean even when he didn't have an arsenal of demon powers at his disposal to throw them off. He obviously didn't want to be found, therefore Sam and Bobby wouldn't be able to find him. All they could do was look for the same thing he was looking for: Marik and Iris. They watched out for demonic omens, ruling out anything too small; two very powerful demons showing up at the same time with an army in tow would give of a hell of a lot more omens than just an electrical storm. 

It had been two days since Dean had left and Sam was getting restless. He was starting to think that searching aimlessly for Dean would yield better results when Bobby spoke up. 

"Denver, Colorado. Crazy weather patterns, power outages, and at least thirty people gone missing. All within the last twelve hours. I think we got 'em. Sure ain't being discreet about any of this." 

Sam sprung up from his chair. "We should get going then." 

"You go. I still have hunters to warn, lots I have to talk to in person. Can you handle this?" 

"Sure, I'll be fine." 

"You sure? Remember, don't get all emotional. Just do what you gotta do. If you have to, get Dean back here and we'll figure something out. I'll catch up with you if I can." 

"I got it Bobby." 

"Alright. Be careful." 

Sam drove away in the impala. It was so late that it was getting to be early, and he hadn't gotten any sleep for a few days aside from briefly dozing off over research. However, he wanted to get there as soon as possible; it'd still take a while without stopping at all. Sam was worried about not only what the demons had planned, but also what Dean may do. He felt terrible for not trusting his own brother, but he couldn't help it, especially after his most recent Hell story. How he'd lost it and went full blown demon. Sam was terrified that that might happen again and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Sure, Bobby had suggested locking him up, but he hadn't seen what Dean was capable of. If he didn't want to be caught, Sam probably wouldn't be able to catch him. The only thing he could really do now was hope that Dean had everything under control. 


	25. Chapter 25

About six hours after Marik and Iris appeared on Dean's radar, he decided to finally pay them a visit. He gave Ted a quick warning then took over and promptly disappeared, headed to the precise spot in Denver. It was an office building off a backroad, somewhat secluded, though one could still hear the noise of the highway. Feeling the multiple demons inside, he concealed himself in the small stand of trees which, along with the darkness, actually provided decent cover. 

He warned Ted before continuing, _**'you're probably not gonna want to watch this.'**_

_'...Why?'_ He asked tentatively. 

Dean again went for a blunt and truthful answer, as that seemed to be the easiest way to explain things in this situation. _**'Because there's a lot of demons in there, and they can be pretty unpredictable. There might be things in there you don't want to see.'**_ True, but not the real reason. He tried again, _**'And, truthfully, I'm going to do some things you might not want to watch.'**_

_'Things like what?'_ Ted asked even more warily. 

_**'Trust me, you'd be better off not knowing.'**_

_'It's my body, I wanna know what's happening,'_ he responded, determined. _'Now what're you gonna do?'_

Dean sighed inwardly. _**'By my standards, nothing too bad. By yours, I'm not so sure. Just remember that it's demons that I'll be killing. If their hosts are still alive, I'll make sure they get out. It could get pretty intense, though. If you really want to watch, I'm not going to stop you, but don't say I didn't warn you.'**_

Ted didn't back down. _'Go ahead.'_ he said finally, making clear that he had no intention to leave. 

_**'Fine. Just remember, I'm the good guy here. I figure you aren't a monster if you only kill for the sake of innocent people.'**_ The last part was more to reassure himself than to reassure Ted. Dean set his expression and posture into the casual yet threatening demeanor demons normally wore and started towards the building. The two demons guarding the main entrance didn't even get a chance to attack him. The second they started to move towards him, he flung them against opposite concrete pillars with little more than a flick of his wrist. He was surprised and amused at how easy it was to just throw them out of the way. In fact, he felt much stronger in general now than he had before. He thought perhaps it had something to do with actually having a live host. He continued inside. 

The place was unexceptional. Grey speckled carpeting and white walls lined a maze of hallways with doors to various offices and conference rooms on either side. The only distinguishing feature about it was that, rather than accountants or whoever normally worked here, the place was crawling with demons. Dean passed one on his way in and, determined to cause some commotion, quickly turned and attacked him. A wave of Dean's hand slammed the man into the wall, a bit harder than he had intended. He effortlessly held the struggling demon still and, determining that the human it was riding was still alive, tightly clenched his fist. With his newfound strength and control, he was easily able to target and kill only the demon. It let loose a bloodcurdling scream before dying in a flash of orange light. 

Dean let the body fall to the floor with a small smile, starting to feel somewhat giddy with power. Ted's contrasting shock and horror sobered him. He calmly addressed this before continuing. 

_**'Told you it wouldn't be pretty.'**_

_'I-is he dead?'_

_**'The demon is. The guy's just unconscious. He'll probably be a bit scarred, but he'll live.'**_ Feeling Ted's unease, he added _**'it's not too late to back out. That one got off easy because the guy was still alive, but I'm warning you now, you won't want to see what I do to the ones that kill their hosts. Like I said, I really don't like monsters.'**_

His harsh and serious tone finally got through to Ted. His consciousness slowly faded away and Dean continued through the halls. The first demon's scream must have attracted the others' attention: five more came running. The end of a vicious flurry of fighting found only Dean left standing, a gleeful and menacing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and a gleam in his black eyes, surrounded on all sides by bodies. 

Most others were finished off similarly, quickly so as not to harm the humans who were still alive and kicking. Seven of the demons he came across, however, were alone in their meat suits. Killed their hosts for full control. He gladly took his time in giving these ones a special treatment before sending them back to Hell to spread the word: Dean Winchester is back. He thought that perhaps regaining his respect in Hell would make the demons stop trailing him, and there was one sure fire way to gain respect in Hell: fear. He already had quite a reputation, he just had to rekindle it after dropping off the map for a few decades. 

Through all of this, Dean had to also fight to remember his objective. He found it increasingly difficult to look past the exhilarating feeling of using his powers to their full potential and stay on track. He reviewed the plan as he stood in front of the last door, knowing full well that there was no turning back now. Already, he could feel himself slipping. He was starting to struggle to stay grounded, to keep his humanity even though he had to act like the powerful and terrifying demon he had been back in Hell. It was like a drug: he'd tasted it once and loved it, but he sobered up. Now it was being waved in front of his face. He knew he couldn't take it, but a large part of him wanted nothing more. The plan: get in, get info, get out. As fast as possible so that Sam wouldn't have a chance to get there. Keep Sammy safe. That one thought kept him on track. He took a calming breath, consciously switched his eyes back to normal, and knocked down the door. 

He only half paid attention to his conversation with the other two demons. Meanwhile, he just fought to stay on track, repeating in his head: _**get in get info get out get in get info get out get in get info get out. Keep Sammy safe.**_ When he spoke, his voice surprised him. Ted's voice. Deep tones and a lazy southern drawl. _**Remember Ted, keep Ted alive**_ he reminded himself. With this, he just barely managed to hold on. 

Six minutes and forty-two seconds later, he had officially joined Marik and Iris's cause. 


	26. Chapter 26

It was around one in the afternoon when Sam rolled into Denver. He was exhausted, but he couldn't waste time on sleep; Dean had already been gone for almost three days. He'd probably found the other demons by now, which meant any number of things: he could be dead, he could be back in Hell, he could even (though Sam didn't like to think about it) be helping them. The thought made him sick, the very real possibility of Dean actually joining the demons. It made Sam even more rushed to find him. Bobby had told him about what he got out of one of the demons he'd interrogated: the side Dean is on will be the winning one. Sam could only hope that he was still on the humans' side. 

He stopped for a quick lunch and a cup of coffee before setting up shop in a cheap motel. He immediately resumed his research, poring over police reports for the last few days, current news, whether, and any other resource he could think of. His tireless work finally paid off when he uncovered a large amount of power surges in only one block of buildings. The area had no power since about five o'clock the day before, the same time the rest of the demonic omens started showing up. When he cross checked this with the missing persons reports, Sam found that all of them had disappeared within a fifteen mile radius of the place. He finished off his coffee and was quickly out the door. 

It took no more than forty-five minutes to get there. There seemed to be no one around, but the place apparently hadn't been abandoned for long. He gathered the essentials (salt, holy water, shotgun loaded with rock salt, and the demon killing knife) and started on the nearest building. 

It was a large brick structure with few windows. Sam approached it cautiously, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. The polished steel door swung open easily to reveal a single room filled with cubicles. The entrance's poor vantage point along with the power outage prevented him from seeing into any of the small compartments. As he tentatively advanced into the narrow aisle, he suddenly became aware of the smell of rotting eggs: sulfur. Demons had definitely been here. 

Taking a few more steps, he could finally see into the first few cubicles. He shined the flashlight into the one on his left, revealing a figure bent over the desk. Looking closer, he found that she was dead, throat slit. He looked through the others and found a similar case in each, some necks snapped, some throats slit, some slightly mangled, some torn beyond recognition. They couldn't have been there long if the police hadn't found this scene yet. Having seen more than enough, he moved on. 

It was the same story for the next two buildings, everyone was dead. It looked like Marik and Iris set their foot soldiers loose on a killing spree, and it was likely that no one had gotten out alive or unpossessed. 

Sam then reluctantly advanced on the largest building in the area, a four-story office building with brick walls and an over dramatic canopy suspended by two concrete pillars over the large glass doors of the front entrance. Finding nothing unusual outside, he slowly walked in. On the surface, the place looked completely normal, but it reeked of sulfur and was oddly the only building in the area with backup power. 

He stored his flashlight away and started into the hallway, immediately finding the first body slumped against a wall. As he got closer, he could see the man's chest subtly rise and fall. He was still alive. There was definitely something wrong here. Every other human he'd come across had been killed in horrible ways, yet this one had been spared. Sam tested him with some holy water then, seeing no reaction, decided to leave him be for now, no time to waste. 

Turning a corner, he found five more bodies sprawled across the floor. He inspected each like the first, check for life then a sprinkle of holy water. All of them were alive and demon-free. Something was wrong here. He hoped that this was Dean's work and not some kind of trap. 

Sam found a few more before he got to a stairwell. The door was locked, so he had to kick it in. Behind the door, there was yet another body, but this one was different. This one was definitely dead, looking as though he'd imploded. Blood was spilling out of his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears and his chest was caved in. Up the stairs to the top floor, there were six more that looked like what he'd found in every other building. They were all dead, and the killer obviously made them suffer first. 

Sam took the stairs to the top floor. A few more bodies (these ones alive like on the first floor) led to one room at the end. The door was on the ground and Sam could hear voices coming from inside. They stopped immediately when he started towards the room. 

"I think we have a visitor." One said quietly, then called to Sam, "Come on out, don't be shy." Sam didn't budge. 

Then a female voice called out, more forcefully. "Come on, we're waiting." Sam suddenly felt himself being pulled towards the door by some unseen force, causing him to drop his gun. He was pressed against the wall just in front of the broken-down door. He could see two people inside, a man and a woman, obviously possessed. The woman was standing closest to the door, holding Sam to the wall. She gave a wide smile. "Hello dear, so kind of you to drop in." Her eyes faded to a purple-tinted black as she raised a hand to snap his neck. Sam panicked and struggled. 

"Wait," an unseen voice said suddenly. Sam didn't recognize it, a deep bass with a slight southern accent. Iris turned away from Sam to look, confused, to the right of the door, just out of Sam's view. "Lemme see him." 

Iris glanced at Sam then turned back to the voice, nodded, and stepped aside. The speaker slowly moved in front of the door, hands casually shoved in his pockets, and looked at Sam, a threatening half-grin stretching across his face. He turned to the other two, who were watching him curiously. 

"Think you could give me a minute with this one." Looking back at Sam, "I think we have some unfinished business to attend to." 

"Fine," the other man responded. "Just don't let him get away." 

His eyes turned black as he turned back to the other two demons. "Trust me," he said with a small chuckle, "I won't."


	27. Chapter 27

Dean teleported both of them to the back of some building, far enough away from Marik and Iris to avoid being seen or heard. Sam, now unbound, quickly pulled out his knife and stood at the ready, eyeing him warily. 

_'That Sammy?'_ Ted asked. 

_**'Yeah, that's Sammy.'**_

_'You're right, he does need a haircut.'_

Dean grinned a little at that. Immediately after officially 'joining' Marik and Iris, Dean had pulled Ted back to the surface and explained his entire plan in detail, in doing so, some background on Dean's previous life slipped in. He tried to be truthful as possible, but there were certain things he really didn't have the patience to explain. For example: he'd mentioned Sam, but not the fact that they were brothers. And he explained that he was a hunter, excluding that he used to be human. 

He turned to Sam, annoyance obvious in his voice. "Oh put the knife down, I'm not gonna hurt you. It's me." 

"Dean?" He lowered the knife a bit. "You possessed someone?" 

Dean ignored his shock. "What the hell were you _thinking_ , Sam? Waltzing in there like that. You almost got yourself killed! You shouldn't have come looking for me." 

Sam looked incredulous, "you disappear and you expect me not to go looking for you?" 

Dean took a few steps forward, now able to look his brother in the eye. "I'm trying to protect you and you're making it pretty damn hard. You have no idea what you're up against." 

"And you do?" 

"Yes, I do. I know these two. They're planning genocide. You probably found what they did to all those people." Sam nodded slightly. "That was with only thirty demons, just a peek at what might happen. They want to jailbreak all of Hell. I find out how, we might be able to stop it but I _need_ you to trust me!" 

Sam was quiet for a moment. "And this guy you're wearing, how does he feel about all of this? Or do you not even care that he'll probably be killed in the middle of it. That's an innocent person, Dean." 

"His name's Ted. And this is just temporary. I explained everything to him, he's fine with it." 

"Really?" Sam said, doubtfully. 

"Don't believe me, take it from him." He closed his eyes. _**'Your turn.'**_ He told Ted. 

_'I get my body back?'_

_**'For now, it's all yours.'**_

Dean receded and put him behind the wheel, watching from the background. 

Ted stretched and moved around a bit, enjoying the feeling of being back in control. "Well it's nice to finally meet you, Sammy. Dean here's been talkin about you." 

Sam looked unsure about how to react. He stored the knife back in his jacket. "so you're really alright with this?" 

He shrugged, "sure. I mean, don't get me wrong, I was pretty freaked out at first, but how else are ya supposed to feel when there's a demon in your head? But you know, he's a good guy, even asked permission first. And he really cares about you. You should at least trust him a little. I'm trustin him with my life." 

_**'Stop, I'm blushing.'**_ Dean commented teasingly. 

_'Hush up, I'm savin your smokey ass.'_

"He promised to get me out alive, even though my life ain't worth much. Miserable old alky when he found me, but after this, I think I'm gonna straighten up. It's probably blasphemy sayin it about a demon," _'no offense.'_

_**'None taken'**_

"But he really is a good guy. And it seems like he's got this whole thing worked out." 

Sam was a bit shocked. He was used to seeing demons' hosts beg for mercy or break down because of what the demons made them do, whereas Ted talked about Dean like an old friend. He spoke hesitantly, "Could I, uh, could I talk to Dean again? Please?" 

Ted shrugged, "Sure." He closed his eyes. 

_**'Thanks, Ted.'**_

_'Sure thing. Well go on now, he wants to talk to you.'_

Dean took over again and looked up at Sam, eyes black. "Well how about that?" he changed his eyes back to normal, sensing how much Sam was still disturbed by them. 

"Just because he's fine with it doesn't make it right." 

"I think it makes it okay. I really like Ted, he's a nice guy. Real accepting about all this." 

"Dean, I — I'm sorry." 

"Save it. Like I said, I don't expect full trust, I'm not delusional. It just hurts a little that a random stranger can trust me, but my own brother can't. But Ted, he's an innocent human in the middle of this. I've been in his head for the last few days, he kinda has to know what's going on. So if you won't take my word for it, at least take his." Sam responded only with a little nod, avoiding eye contact. 

"Alright. Now get out of here, and don't get in Marik and Iris's path again. I'm real close, and when I get everything, I'll find a way out, I'll give Ted his body back, and I'll come find you. We can finish these evil bastards once and for all. But go on. Get lost." He finished with a smile. 

Sam responded with a grin of his own and a small chuckle, "jerk." 

"Bitch." 

With that, Sam suddenly found himself back in the impala. He started the car and was quickly on his way back to the motel. 

Dean, on the other hand, had to make an extra stop before returning. He went into the massacred call center a few buildings over from Marik and Iris's base. 

_**'This is going to be pretty unpleasant.'**_

_'I'll take your word for it this time,'_ Ted faded into unconsciousness with no argument. Dean walked over to the third cubicle to the right. Its occupant was particularly mangled and the sight was off-putting, even for Dean, but he needed to look convincing. He thoroughly coated his hands in the dark liquid pooled on the desk and flicked some on his face and clothing. He walked out of the building before waking Ted. 

_**'Now, this isn't as bad as it looks.'**_ Dean assured him, bringing attention to his blood-soaked hands. _**'You were only out for about a minute. I didn't kill anyone, I just need it to look like I did.'**_

_'I believe you.'_ He responded, though obviously disturbed by the sight. 

Dean then switched his eyes to black and teleported back to the office, nonchalantly using the bottom of his shirt as a towel to wipe the blood off his hands. 

"Satisfied?" Marik asked when he appeared. 

Dean smiled widely. "Very." Then, to Ted, added, _**'I'll pay for a new shirt.'**_

_'Thanks.'_

"Now, should we get back to work?"


	28. Chapter 28

"Back to work?" Iris said, raising an eyebrow and jabbing a finger at Dean, who remained stoic. "You destroyed all of our work when you showed up." 

"Guess I got a little excited." Dean said with a smirk. 

She was sounding increasingly annoyed. "Do you know how hard it was to get just that many demons out?" 

"Calm down." Marik said, halfheartedly trying to be the voice of reason. 

Iris angrily turned to him, lowering her voice slightly. "Calm down? This idiot blunders in and destroys years of work and you actually want to keep him here? Anyone else does that, they're dead on the spot, so why not just kill him now? I told you it was stupid to get a torturer involved," she shot Dean a sideways glance, "they're rabid." 

Dean couldn't help but laugh at the statement. As if all demons weren't 'rabid'. The only difference was that torturers generally weren't afraid to attack other demons. While he was in control of Torture and Inquisition, Dean was known to occasionally have another demon on his rack; whether as punishment for disobedience or simple amusement. After all, he had a reputation to maintain. But he knew their mindset: Kill a human, it's pest control, but kill your own kind, you're a monster. 

"Iris, stop." Marik responded sternly. "We need him. You know that." 

"What we need is an army, and we're down the only soldiers we had _because_ of him." 

"Wait a minute, _you two_ could only scrape up thirty demons?" Dean asked with humor and a tinge of confusion. Marik and Iris were practically celebrities, they shouldn't have any trouble gathering followers. 

"Yeah, well border control's a lot more strict since you got loose so fast," Iris shot at him, then turned back to Marik. "He's irresponsible and he's a liability. You get rid of him, or I will." 

"I'd like to see you try." Dean pitched in with laugh. "Don't get on my bad side, sweetheart. I'm sure you remember what happened to Alistair." He said with a deadly smile. 

Dean's claim to fame. When he finally snapped and lost his careful control, lost his humanity entirely, he immediately went after the one who'd tortured him all those years and had ultimately turned him into a monster: Alistair. He had gotten the full force of Dean's cocktail of pent up pain, frustration, and vicious anger along with his newfound cruel imagination and lack of mercy. Being Alistair's prodigy, Dean naturally took his place once he was out of the equation. This was what really caught the attention of the other head demons (and the rest of Hell, for that matter). Dean still couldn't bring himself to feel any shred of remorse for what he'd done, even though at the same time he knew he should never forgive himself for it. At least now, he could use it as leverage for authority. 

Iris backed down. She seated herself behind the desk and tried to look stoic, though Dean could distinctly feel some equal amounts of hatred, fear, and respect, pretty much the reaction he was hoping for. 

He turned to Marik, "so what's the big plan to rally the troops?" 

Marik refocused on Dean, also trying to appear aloof. "Well we had those thirty, and we have half of hell on our side already, we just need to get them out." 

"And..." 

"And what?" 

Dean scoffed lightly, "you're new to this, aren't you?" 

"You are too." Marik said, looking slightly offended. 

Dean chuckled, "This ain't exactly my first rodeo. I stopped things like this for a living, I'm pretty sure I know what I'm talking about. So do you actually have a jailbreak plan, or are you just spitballing it and hoping you come up with something?" Marik gulped and said nothing. Dean shook his head in disappointment, "alright kids, listen up, because I'm only going to say this once: an army isn't just going to come to you. You have to go get them. You jumped the gun and left before you actually had a plan or any backup, and you really do need backup. I know for a fact that every hunter out there is looking for you now, and you're being pretty sloppy. You can't just kill any human that crosses your path, that gives hunters a big red sign and a trail of bodies leading right to your door." 

"And why should we worry about a couple reckless humans?" Iris pitched in. 

"Don't underestimate them," Dean said seriously, "because they can and will kill you, especially with how many there are after you. I'd say that if you want a 'revolution', you get back downstairs and lead it. Go get your soldiers together then get them all out. I can stay here and gather whoever's already up top." 

"Why you?" Marik asked. 

"Because I know how things work up here. I've been here longer and I remember how to act human, avoid suspicion. Plus I know exactly how hunters work, I can get the job done without getting caught or killed." 

"And we're just supposed to leave you here alone?" Iris asked, leaning her elbows on the desk. "Sorry, but I'm not really happy about leaving Hell's most famous demon slayer to gather demons." 

"Aw, don't you trust me?" Dean said with a sarcastic puppy-dog face. 

"No," she responded, standing up, "and for a good reason too. You—" 

"Save it." Marik cut her off, "it's a good plan. You go and I'll stay here," he glanced at Dean, "keep things under control." 

Iris measured her options for a moment. "Fine," she decided, "I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't do anything stupid." With that, she left her host with a violent rush of smoke and disappeared through the floorboards. 

_**'Now would be the time to hide.'**_ Dean warned Ted, who'd been watching quietly and somewhat uneasily. 

_'What're you gonna do?'_

_**'You don't need to know.'**_ he said. Ted quickly faded, recognizing the seriousness behind the thought. 

"So how are we going to gather everyone on the surface?" Marik asked. 

Dean laughed darkly. "We're not." 

"What?" 

"I just said that to get rid of that bitch Iris." His eyes switched to black and he suddenly flung Marik at the wall hard enough to break a hole into the next room then pinned him to the ground in the rubble. He crouched over the writhing and panicking demon with a small and frightening smile, "she was right though, you really shouldn't be trusting me. Remember, Hell's most famous demon slayer?" He loosed a low, maniacal laugh, "oh, this is going to be fun."


	29. Chapter 29

Dean found it quite a bit harder to hold the demon still, Marik was more or less a match for him, but had been at the disadvantage of being taken off guard. He struggled as Dean stalled dramatically, cracking his knuckles and pacing around him. "So, here's how it's going to go: I'm not going to kill you." 

Marik's face was contorted with a mix of anger and fear. He started to say something, but Dean quickly pinched together his thumb and index finger, silencing him. 

"Shhh. You know, it's not nice to interrupt. It's really nothing personal, Marik, I just don't take well to monsters like you. Genocide? You really thought you could get away with that? Sorry, I can't let that happen. Call it a flaw, but I tend to prefer humans to mindless hell spawn. Like I was saying: I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to kill Iris, then every other good-for-nothing demon unlucky enough to cross me." He crouched down next to Marik's head. "But you're special: you're going to be my warning." 

He pulled out the knife that he'd swiped from Sam, the one so much like those he had in Hell, specially designed to be used on demons. Dean first verified that the human Marik was possessing was definitely dead, then got to work. He slowly and carefully flayed off skin, precise in each movement of the blade so as to invoke as much pain as possible. It was effective, he had plenty of practice with things like this from his time in Hell, but he quickly found that he couldn't do half as much here as he could in Hell. Things were too solid and limited; he couldn't heal and redo a particularly effective section and he wasn't able to materialize a new tool to better get the job done. Plus, working on a demon's vessel wasn't nearly as satisfying as the demon itself, which couldn't even take a solid form outside of Hell. Therefore, he quickly became bored with this approach. 

Dean wiped clean and stashed away the knife, then extended a hand over Marik's face and closed his eyes, focusing all of the energy not invested in holding him still on ripping the demon out of the body. Marik's mouth was forced open as smoke rushed out. It was the same deep red-black as his eyes had shown and crackled with electricity. He immediately tried to escape through the window, but Dean just pulled him back. Not a solid subject, but this form was as good as he would get. The pure demon was now trapped in an invisible ball, billowing in anger and projecting thoughts into Dean's head. 

_"You arrogant bastard. You think you're all high and mighty just because you save a few stupid humans, but you're no better than the rest of us. You killed thirty of your own kind in cold blood."_

"Oh I've done a lot more than that." 

_"Then why is it that you think you're so different? Why are humans' lives worth so much more to you than ours? You call me a monster, then what does that make you? Like it or not, you_ are _one of us."_

Dean shook his head with a grimace. "I'm _nothing_ like you. And the life of a mindless demon is worth nothing to me," he responded gravely. He swiped a finger through the thick red smoke, siphoning a good amount of energy from it. Dean could hear Marik's grunts of pain and yells of protest, but paid no attention. He was too busy reveling in the sudden rush of power. It wasn't much, but it did feel good. When the feeling wore off, Dean ran his whole hand through, eliciting a mental scream from Marik. He was rewarded with that same overpowering, euphoric feeling as with Alistair and, more recently, killing all those demons. 

He continued to take more and more, careful to pause occasionally to refocus through the power rush, until Marik was too weak to keep fighting back. When he was through, the smoke was no longer red or electrified. Dean had stripped away any strength until the once-powerful Marik was no better than a brand new demon, (minus the pride and confidence that usually came along with such a condition). He finally released the demon and stood back to admire his work. Marik didn't seem to notice his freedom. He was just waiting for the next blow and praying that it'd be the one to kill him. His voice in Dean's head had been reduced to soft, slightly pathetic whimpers. 

After a minute, Dean leaned forward and whispered "now would be a good time to run along home. Anyone asks what happened to you, tell them it was Dean Winchester, and tell them to run and hide." 

Marik stirred a bit, testing that he could actually move. Before running away, he shot one thought at Dean: _"you know, we may be demons, but you're the only monster here."_

....... 

Dean could feel all the power he had stolen from Marik coursing through him, burning in his veins. It was the same feeling as when he'd given in to his powers, everything sharpened and intensified, the feeling of being invincible. But it was different somewhat, easier to control, he supposed. Though in the presence of so much raw energy, Dean was still able to keep his head. Maybe it was because he was getting used to it, maybe something about it was different, maybe it was because he was on Earth in a human body. Whatever the cause, he considered it lucky. There was still work to be done. First of all, the previously possessed people that Dean had saved were still in the office building. 

When he went through killing all of the demons, he was careful to make sure that each host remained unconscious. He'd put them all in a sort of coma so that Marik or Iris wouldn't kill them. 

He turned his shirt inside out to hide the bloodstains and assured that his eyes were normal, then teleported all of the survivors to the parking lot and woke them up for a mass explanation. They all woke in a haze, unaware of where they were or what had happened. Dean stood on a bench and yelled for their attention. Once all eyes were on him, he started. 

"Okay, everybody listen up. I know that none of you really know where you are or why, you were just minding your own business and some smoke came at you and you blacked out and ended up here, am I right?" There were nods and noises of agreement. "Alright, I know this is going to sound crazy, but you were all possessed by demons." There was a sudden chorus of murmurs, and Dean could feel the confusion, fear, and panic swell from the group, "it's alright, they're all gone now. I got rid of them. If you're hurt, get yourself to a hospital. If not, go home. People might tell you that you started acting weird. Come up with some excuse, just don't say demons unless you want to be thrown in the loony bin. You aren't crazy, this is all real, but it'd be best if you just pretend nothing happened. You've only been gone a few days, get back to your lives and forget about all of this." 

It was a pretty difficult to calm the twenty-some slightly hysterical people, but eventually everyone was on their way back to their lives. One major problem out of the way. Next order of business: clean up the mess. 

There were four buildings full of bodies that needed to be taken care of. Three from the demons' massacre, one of his own kills. Wanting desperately to get out of town, Dean saw to this quickly. Fires seemed to be the easiest way to go. 

Dean positioned himself in front of the first building and focused his power. He directed a blast at the building, noticing his eyes involuntarily change color. He didn't bother to fix that as he watched the building slowly go up in flames. He did the same to the other three. Finishing this took an astounding amount of energy, but it hardly tired him. Before absorbing Marik's power, such a feat would have likely been impossible. 

When it was done, Dean had to spend some unknowable amount of time fighting through the delirium it caused. He had to consciously work through from what he was doing, why, where he was, how he had gotten there, all the way back to his one anchoring thought, his reasoning behind everything: keep Sammy safe. 

Once recovered, Dean looked over the wreckage and decided that his job there was done. He woke Ted, briefly explained what had happened (sparing him the part about torturing Marik), and finally left the burning buildings behind him.


	30. Chapter 30

Immediately after getting back to the motel, Sam gave Bobby a call. 

_"Hello?"_

"Hey, it's me. I found him." 

_"Is that a good found him or bad found him?"_

"I found the demons, he was with them. He possessed someone, but it seems like he has it under control." 

_"Hijacking some poor bastard's skin and buddying up with a bunch of demons doesn't sound real controlled to me."_

"I talked to the guy, he was fine with all of it, hell if I know why. Dean said he was close and he'd come find me when he got everything." 

_"So he's really rolling with the whole double agent thing?"_

"I guess so. I saw how he was with them. He's being a damn good actor for someone. I'm gonna trust him, Bobby." 

Bobby was silent for a second. _"Alright. You need any help, you know where to find me."_

"Thanks." Sam hung up. 

He really was relieved to have found Dean intact, but he still had a bad feeling about the whole thing. Obviously, he hadn't really expected to find his brother possessing some drunkard from Texas, but that wasn't what really bothered him. What bothered him most was how natural Dean acted around the demons. Sam knew his brother; he was a natural liar, but a piss-poor actor. In their line of work, seamlessly lying was kind of a requirement, but there is a difference between lying and acting. For example, they often introduced themselves as some sort of officials to get insider information on a case; with the assistance of fake badges, the lie was usually believable. Then there was acting, pretending to be something you're not. This was what nagged at Sam, he wasn't so sure that Dean would be able to keep up the charade for as long as he had. Not unless some part of it was true. There was still that little voice in the corner of Sam's mind that wondered 'what if?' What if Dean was really, deep down, just like them? If not, what if he wanted to be? 

Sam shoved the thoughts away. If Dean said that everything was under control, then he was hellbent on believing him. Especially after what he'd said, that a random stranger could trust him but his own brother couldn't. Sam knew that it was unfair, Dean had proven himself countless times since he'd been back, but there were just some little things: passing comments about Hell, shorter temper, random outbursts, threats at creatures they caught. He'd also noticed Dean thinking less about humans in general, like a lack of empathy or patience in interviewing victims and witnesses. And Sam definitely didn't miss the flashes of black eyes at the sight of blood and gore, Dean seemed to even enjoy it, always practically beaming when entering a crime scene. Things like these kept that little nagging voice alive. 

Sam plopped himself down on the motel room's lumpy bed and was instantly reminded that he hadn't slept in days. Seeing as all he had to do now was wait, he decided some rest was long overdue. He double checked the hex bags and salt circle (only around the bed so that Dean could still get in the room) before finally allowing himself to relax. 

....... 

Before returning Ted's body, Dean first had to retrieve his own. He got as close to it as he could, but, seeing as he'd warded the hell out of it, he could only get within about five miles of the grave site. He hijacked a station wagon and drove the rest of the way. 

_**'Just one more stop and you're pretty much home free.'**_ Dean told Ted as he was driving. 

_'Really? That wasn't all that bad.'_

_**'Well what were you expecting, the whole projectile vomiting and spewing random Latin?'**_

_'Kinda yeah.'_

Dean smiled a bit at that. _**'Not gonna lie, I have met some demons that do the whole nine just to mess with people.'**_

_'Lucky you ain't like that then.'_

_**'I did spare you the... grizzly details. But you're getting out alive, just like I promised.'**_

_'Well I appreciate that. Both parts.'_

He arrived at the gravesite and abandoned the car on the side of the road. The loose dirt was, thankfully, just as he'd left it. He again psychically dug up the grave then hopped inside next to his body. He pulled out a folded up napkin from his pocket, wet it with some spit, and went about removing all of the wards he'd drawn on, finishing with the already faded binding link on Ted's arm. 

He then left Ted and was briefly nothing but a cloud of smoke before quickly turning around and re-possessing his own body. Dean took a second to take full control, happy to be himself again, then quickly got both of them out of the hole. He filled it back in and dusted himself off before taking them back to Texas. 

They appeared just outside the front door to Ted's house. Dean gestured to it, "home sweet home." Ted smiled widely and went inside. Dean followed, still talking. "Alright, so just a couple things before I'm out of your hair for good. Just a second." He disappeared for no more than ten seconds then returned with a duffel bag. Ted watched curiously, but said nothing as Dean started to dig through the bag. 

"Alright, basic defense, listen up." Dean said, pulling out four little black bags and setting them on the kitchen table, "these are hex bags. Put them around the house and keep them here at all times. Never lose them, never destroy them in any way." 

"What're those for?" 

"There'll probably be some angry demons after me for what I did. That'll stop them from coming for you." 

Ted furrowed his brow, "why would they be comin' for me?" 

"Some demons get pretty attached to their hosts. They might try to use you as leverage or just revenge." He then pulled out a pendant, holding it by the string with two fingers, away from himself, and set it next to the hex bags. "That's the real important one. You don't have to wear it, but keep it on you and you'll never be possessed again." Ted just nodded. Dean set down a water bottle, "Any demon comes after you, this is your weapon of choice. Splash some of that at them. Hope you never get close enough to have to use it." 

"Water?" He looked skeptical. 

"Holy water. Harmless to you, but for demons," Dean opened the bottle and dripped a bit on the back of his hand. Ted watched in surprise as it sizzled and steamed. Dean carefully closed the bottle and put it back on the table, wiping his hand on his jeans. "Burns like hell. Like I said, hope you never have to use it." Next was a burlap bag of rock salt, "salt, same principal if you toss some at a demon, but it'll keep them out too if you put it in front of the doors and windows." Finally, he took out a stick of chalk. He spoke as he drew some intricate symbol on the underside of the doormat, "this is your last line of defense. Worst case scenario, one tries to get in, it'll get trapped here." He finished the symbol, replaced the doormat, and stood. He pulled a piece of paper and pen from his jacket, scribbled down his phone number, and handed it to Ted, "and last but not least, anything goes wrong, you give me a call. You got all that?" 

He nodded, looking a bit overwhelmed, "I think so." He laughed a bit. 

"What?" 

"'S just a little ironic, a demon's giving me a lesson on how to fight demons." 

Dean smirked a little at that, "I told you, I'm a hunter, it's my job. Some people work registers, I fight monsters. This is all 'just in case' stuff. You'll probably never need it, but I don't want you to get killed because of me. Consider yourself demon-proofed." 

"Well thanks." 

Dean nodded. "So my job's done here. You get back to your life, sober up, get your job back, grovel to your fiancée. Make it worth something, alright?" Ted nodded. "And thanks for, uh, letting me borrow you for a bit." 

"Yeah. Hey I was just wondering, why did you wanna get back to that body?" This caught Dean's attention. "I mean, couldn't you be anybody in the world? Why stick with that guy?" 

"Well this is me," he responded simply, "The real me. I wasn't always like this, you know. This was my body when I was human. Dean Winchester. I don't really want to be anyone else, don't really know how." He was quiet for a second, then grabbed the duffel bag. "You take care, Ted." 

He nodded, looking over at the items Dean had given him. "You too." He said, but when he looked back, his friendly demon-hunting demon was already gone. 

....... 

Dean did want to get back to Sam as soon as possible. He could clearly feel Sam's doubt and mistrust when he found Dean with the demons. He wanted to get back to show him that there was nothing to worry about. Well that was one reason, the one he'd give if anyone asked. The other reason was that the demon honestly needed his anchor. He was already finding it more difficult to control his new level of power, and that scared him. 

But first, he had something else to check in on. After going to talk to Bobby about Marik and Iris, Dean suspected that the hunter had encountered a few facts that would be better off never seeing the light of day. He appeared inside the house while Bobby was out, not bothering with the door or all of the traps he'd have to dodge just to get to where he was sitting in the cluttered living room. 

He tried not to laugh at Bobby's surprise and fear when he walked in to find the demon lounging on his couch. The fear faded once he recognized that it was Dean, but not by much. 

"Well hell," Dean started with humor, "with all those traps, almost seems like you don't want company." 

"What're you doing here?" Bobby asked, not all too kindly. 

"Wanna talk to you." 

"Sam with you?" 

"Nah, he doesn't know I'm here." 

Bobby warily eyed him while entering the room slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. "What is it then? 

The amusement fell from Dean's face, down to business. "What do you know?" 

"'Bout what?" Bobby responded, trying to look indifferent, though Dean could clearly feel his nervousness. 

The hunter stopped in his tracks when Dean stood up. "I'm not messing around here, Bobby. I said 'Grand Inquisitor', your ears perked up. Now what do you know?" Bobby didn't reply. "Alright, well here's my theory: you obviously don't trust me, pretty sure you still don't even believe that I'm me, so like any good hunter with a demon problem, you did some research to see what you're up against." He cocked an eyebrow at the hunter, "how am I doing so far?" Still no response. Dean nodded, taking the silence as an affirmative, and continued. "So you went out and you found some low-level demons that you could try to pull answers out of. And I'm guessing that at least one of them was stupid enough to spill. So let me ask one more time, how much do you know?" 

Bobby seemed to realize that he wasn't leaving without answers. He hesitantly spoke up. "I know what happened in Hell. Apparently you're best of the best with torture. Even demons think you're bad news." 

Dean chuckled at that, "well of course they do, you're not supposed to like your boss." 

"So it's true?" 

"Wish I could say it wasn't. You have to understand though, things are different down there. Torture is practically a day job, and it's not like I was tearing into innocent people, they were damned souls. I mean, damnation's gotta pay with something, right? I worked hard until I was strong enough to get rid of Alistair and take over." 

"And you still expect us to trust you?" 

"Sure I worked my way to the top, and I could be just as bad as Azazel or Lilith, but I chose not to. I _chose_ to come back up here and go on being _human_ ." He paused to reorganize his thoughts. "Did you tell Sam?" he asked finally. 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

"Figured it wasn't my place. Figured that if you had a shred of decency left, you'd tell him yourself–" 

"He doesn't need to know," Dean cut him off sharply, trying not to sound angry. It was bad enough that Bobby saw him as a monster, the last thing he wanted was for Sam to also. He changed focus quickly, not wanting to dwell on the idea. "So who was it, who told you?" 

"Some demon." 

"Obviously. Did you get a name?" 

"Said he was an 'underling' but he knew you personally." 

"Try to play it cool until you pulled out a knife?" 

"Yeah." 

Dean laughed and mumbled to himself, "quidem, ignavi excors." 

Bobby remembered what else the demon had said, that sharing so much information would make 'his master' want to kill him. At this point (though it was a disturbing thought), it was safe to assume that the 'master' was Dean, and it was probably safe to assume that dying was the last thing that demon had to worry about. "Why do you want to know?" 

Another laugh, "what I'm going to do to that suicidal sack of sulfur is nothing you should be worried about. I might not hurt humans, but disobedient demons don't deserve mercy. Anyway, you don't have to worry about me as much as you do. Just be happy I'm on your team. If I wasn't, you'd already be dead." He gave that a second to process, then announced "I should get back, Sam's waiting for me." With that, he disappeared, leaving Bobby wondering what to think of the encounter and the new information. 

He'd just heard it straight from the horse's mouth, Dean was powerful, dangerous, and obviously influential in Hell. And he put it pretty plainly, if he wanted Sam or Bobby dead, they'd be dead. But demons did have a history of playing humans for amusement. Dean seemed to speak and act much more freely without Sam around. He obviously still cared about Sam, still refused to harm innocent people, still (though ironic) hated demons. Bobby figured that, if this was his genuine personality, it really could be a lot worse. It was reassuring, but didn't quite change how much trust he was willing to put in a demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quidem, ignavi excors - figures, the cowardly idiot


	31. Chapter 31

It was around two in the morning when Dean actually returned. He couldn't supernaturally track Sam due to the hex bags, so he used the GPS on his phone to find him. He appeared in the motel room to find Sam asleep, a circle of salt around the bed. Dean appreciated the consideration, Sam knowing that he'd want to be able to get in the room, but he couldn't help but think how useless the setup really was. Especially considering the duffel full of miscellaneous weapons carelessly left on the table. He mused on how easy it would be to grab a gun out of the bag and shoot him dead, or simply toss a knife past the salt circle, aimed straight at his heart. Or even just how easy the salt line would be to break, all he needed was a little gust of wind and the hunter would be completely defenseless, asleep and unprotected. At that point, he wouldn't even need the provided weapons, just a little burst of power and – 

Dean quickly stopped himself once he realized what was going through his head, appalled. Was he honestly just fantasizing about killing Sam? He had recently noticed that thoughts like this were becoming more and more frequent. His mind wandered and he found himself pleasantly imagining how easily he could just wipe out everyone in the room, or infinite ways to kill a person, pondering which would be the best method. Then the rational, human, part of his mind stepped in and he was left feeling just as guilty as if he'd actually done it. These thoughts scared him, mostly because he knew that, at any moment, it would only take a momentary slip in control for them to become reality. However, having these thoughts about random strangers was one thing, but his own brother, that was an entirely different story. It horrified him. 

Dean went into the bathroom to separate himself from Sam and splashed cool water on his face in an attempt to oust the thoughts and calm the instinctive responses that came along with them, his pounding heart and muscles tensed for action. He leaned on the sink and allowed a moment to regain control, watching the dirty water swirl down the drain. He looked up at himself in the mirror. There were streaks of mud on his face and his hair was haphazardly tousled and almost grey with dirt. Dean consciously switched his eyes from their human shade of green to his now natural black, a visual reality check to remind himself of what he really was, just the thing controlling this meat suit. 

Well, his eyes should have been black. He stepped back when he saw the color, thinking maybe it was just a trick of the light, then leaned back in close for a better look. He wasn't mistaken, it was clear that his eyes were no longer the inky black of any normal demon, but rather a dark blue. This surprised him; only the top demons had different eyes, like Azazel's yellow or Lilith's white. He was sure they weren't like that before. A deep shade of blue, similar to the tint of Marik or Iris's but perhaps a bit more colored, more noticeably different. On one level, it was a pleasant realization, a verification that he was on the same playing field as the top dogs in Hell. On the other hand, it scared him a little, seeing as all the rest of the 'special' demons really were monsters, the worst of the worst. He switched his eyes back and stepped away from the mirror, storing the realization for another time. 

He took a quick shower to wash off all of the dirt left from being buried then got some food and waited for Sam to wake up. Dean wasn't sure how long it took, but he was relieved when he finally stirred. He hadn't wanted to wake Sam up (he obviously hadn't gotten much sleep lately), but he couldn't stand being left alone to his thoughts. 

"Good morning, sunshine," Dean said as Sam sat up. 

Sam started at the unexpected voice, then turned to look at his brother, "you're back." 

"Yeah, told you I would be." 

"What happened to the guy?" 

"Ted's back to his life, totally safe, I demon-proofed him. 

Sam nodded. "So you got everything out of Marik and Iris?" 

"Sort of, yeah." Dean responded, thinking about how he'd definitely gotten everything out of Marik. 

Sam was looking more alert. "Sort of?" 

"It didn't take long to get the plan out of them. Wasn't much of a plan, anyway." He paused, unsure, "so I got Iris to go back to Hell so I could deal with Marik alone." 

"You killed him?" Sam assumed. 

Dean shook his head and chuckled slightly, "no, I did worse." Sam was starting to look worried, seeing the small grin starting at the corners of his brother's mouth. "He's not gonna be a problem anymore." 

"What do you mean?" 

"After what I did to him, he won't even be able to crawl back outta Hell," he said with an unintentionally frightening smirk. "Guess I could have killed him, but I didn't. I sent him back downstairs as a warning." 

"A warning?" 

"To the rest of the demons. I really made a name for myself down there, more than I've said, but I disappeared for a couple decades. I figure, a demon as famous and strong as Marik goes crawling back home with that story, I can get my respect back. If they know what's good for them, they'll leave us alone." 

Sam just nodded, unsure of what to think. "Well, I guess that's a couple problems taken care of. No more genocide plan and no more demons hunting us down." 

"Yeah, that's a plus." Dean said. It was good. Saving themselves was good. Saving everyone else was good. Even so, Dean felt that it may have been a bad idea to absorb all of Marik's power. He could feel himself teetering over the edge of his control, and he was gripping tight to his little shred of humanity. He decided that, for his own good and for Sam's (and probably many others), he could never leave his brother again. He needed Sam there to constantly remind him why he couldn't just give in: he had to keep Sammy safe. Safe from the monsters they hunted, safe from the rest of the world. Safe from what Dean hoped never to become.


	32. Chapter 32

After the whole incident with Marik and Iris was over with, Sam and Dean were back to work. Not much had changed: Sam was still wary of Dean's new behavior, though gradually trusting him more. On the other hand, Dean was still completely mistrusting of himself. He knew that he was in a slow downward spiral but he was doing everything in his power to prevent it. He also knew that Sam had been keeping in touch with Bobby. He wasn't sure, but seeing as they were obviously trying to keep it secret, he could only assume that it was about him. It slightly annoyed but didn't concern him, he was trying to be understanding of how both of them must be feeling about the whole situation. So they were back to work. A wraith in Buford, Wyoming, kitsune in Nowheresville, Nebraska, vamps in Omaha, wendigo in Des Moines, among others. They went nearly two months without incident. 

That is, until their work brought them to Waterloo, Iowa. They were looking into what seemed to be a vengeful spirit in an old apartment complex. A man had been found dead in his apartment, most of his bones broken and a few organs ruptured. The ME said it looked like he'd jumped off a building, had he not been found inside. He'd left no family or close friends, so after initially talking to the police, Sam and Dean went around and interviewed tenants in the general vicinity of the crime scene. 

Most of them answered similarly: he was a nice guy; nothing bad ever happened around there; no, they hadn't noticed anything strange. One more brief interview and they were ready to call it a day. 

A 30-some-year-old man with long hair and glasses answered the door to the apartment directly above the crime scene. He said nothing as they flashed their badges. 

Sam spoke first. "Kurt Dour?" The man nodded. "We're with the police investigating your neighbor's death, we'd just like to ask you a few questions." 

"About Mikey? Alright then." He responded, brow furrowed. 

Sam continued, "Would you happen to know if anyone had a grudge against 'Mikey'?" 

He shrugged, "I don't know. I wouldn't think so. Didn't know him real well, but we talked sometimes. He was a nice guy." 

"Have you noticed anything weird lately?" Dean pitched in. 

"Weird like...?" 

"Like sudden drops in temperature, lights flickering, strange noises, smells." Kurt just cocked an eyebrow and folded his arms. "Alright, how about Mikey acting strange, anything out of character?" The man broke into an amused smile. "What?" 

He laughed a bit and wagged a finger in their direction. "You guys are good." Dean was thoroughly confused by his amusement. He turned to Sam, "what's he talking about?" then back to Kurt, "what're you talking about?" 

He looked to be genuinely enjoying himself. "That's pretty cool. But really, is this all a set up? Who put you up to it? Was it Jerry? I bet it was Jerry." 

Dean was starting to get annoyed, which for him translated to angry. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about, but you obviously have us confused with someone else." All the while, Sam was apologizing quietly and trying to drag Dean away, but he didn't budge. 

Kurt was unperturbed. He gave another little laugh, "okay, you're sticking to character, I can appreciate that. I'll play along. Sorry 'Dean', what do you want to know?" He said in a vaguely mocking tone. 

Dean roughly grabbed Kurt's collar and pushed him against the doorframe. "Okay, what the hell are you playing at, how do you know who we are?" He said through clenched teeth. Kurt's amusement was starting to wear off and he was look scared. 

"Dean," Sam pulled hard at his brother's arm to get his attention. 

Dean turned his head to look at him without releasing his hold on the guy, eyes involuntarily turning dark blue. "What?" 

Sam was surprised by the sudden change in color, but decided to talk to Dean about it later. "We should go." 

"What?" He repeated, incredulously. 

"Come on, Sam, you don't think this is weird?" 

"I'll explain later. We're going." 

Dean shot Kurt a threatening glare (he didn't realize that his eyes were still an unearthly blue until he saw the man cower into the wall) before reluctantly releasing him and allowing himself to be ushered away.


	33. Chapter 33

Before long, they were in the impala headed away from the apartment. Sam insisted on driving, seeing as Dean was still calming himself down. Neither said anything until they were back to the motel. 

"What the hell was that about?" Dean asked while pacing around the room. "If that guy knew us he could be a hunter or a demon or who knows what else, why are we just leaving him there?" 

Sam calmly leaned against the table, allowing space for Dean to calm down. "He's nothing special, just a normal human." 

Dean stopped in front of him, "then, what, have we met him before? Cause I don't remember him." 

"Well, he's kind of a fan. Of us, our lives." 

"The hell does that mean?" 

"Well, a few years back, I found out that there's this book series called 'Supernatural'. It's pretty much our whole lives up for public consumption." 

"What? How? Who would want to read about us anyway? Our lives are crap." 

"It has kind of a cult following, not a lot of people read it. The author's a prophet, and he's honed in on us for some reason." 

"A prophet? Like, biblical, prophet?" 

"Exactly. He sees what happens to us, and he writes books about it. The last one published ended with you going to Hell, but he's probably written a lot more by now." 

Dean scoffed, annoyed, "great. I wanna talk to this guy." 

"After we're done here." 

Dean nodded and said no more. There was a pause before Sam hesitantly voiced his newest concern. "So - um - when you —" 

"When I attacked that guy," Dean interrupted, "my eyes turned blue, right?" 

"Uh, yeah. You knew?" 

He nodded, "yeah. Noticed that after I... finished off Marik. Been meaning to bring it up." Dean could feel his concern and fear. It was justified, he supposed. Dean _had_ left his own body for a while, for all Sam knew, he could be talking to an entirely different demon who'd taken advantage of the vacancy. 

"But I thought only the top demons were different?" 

"Well I told you that I took care of Marik, but I never said how." 

"You said after what you did, he wouldn't even be able to get back out of Hell," Sam recalled, "what _did_ you do?" 

"I took all of Marik's power for myself." Some of Sam's concern was replaced with confusion. Dean continued, closing his eyes as if in a fond memory, "and it felt _great._ All that power, you have no _idea._ It's like being invincible." He opened his now midnight blue eyes and turned them on his brother. "I _am_ one of the top demons, have been for a while, only now I've got a lot more firepower and the look to prove it. But the difference between me and Azazel or Lilith or any others is that I still have some humanity in me, and every hell spawn out there knows how I feel about them: I have every intention of killing any that get in my way." He switched his eyes back to normal and waited for Sam's reaction. 

He thought about this for a moment, "you're sure?" 

"Sure about what?" 

"That you're not like them." 

His face hardened, "what's that supposed to mean?" 

"It's nothing. Just, you've been acting, I don't know, different." 

Dean turned away in a halfhearted attempt to contain himself. When that failed, he let out a small hysterical laugh then turned back angrily and shouted, "Well what did you _expect,_ Sam? You think that I'd go to Hell for 900 years and be just fine? You know, there's a good reason every demon we've met has been _completely insane._ " Noticing Sam's fear heighten, he paused to take a few calming breaths before resuming soberly, "that's the point of Hell, you know. Drive you crazy, carve away every last shred of humanity until you totally lose it. The things I've been through, I've done, you can't even begin to imagine. Eventually, you have no choice but to just accept it, maybe even enjoy it. The faster you do, the faster you turn into this." He gestured to himself, eyes momentarily flashing blue. "Believe me, I held out as long as I could, but I snapped, just like everyone does eventually. Went on a little rampage down there, that's why they're all after me. Or were. They're probably afraid of me now, which is good." Sam said nothing, avoiding eye contact. Dean sighed and sat down on the bed, resigned, "look, I - I'm really not like them, Sammy. I know you can't really trust me, hell, I don't trust me, but just a little would be nice. Like I told Bobby, I'm still me, still a hunter, just with a few extra tricks up my sleeve. I haven't hurt anyone and I'm not going to." 

"Came close," Sam muttered. 

"I know. It's... hard to control sometimes, especially after getting a lot more power, but I'm handling it. I wasn't going to do anything to that guy unless I had a good reason to. Everything's under control." 

_'For now'_ a little voice in the back of Dean's mind added. The true demon in him, a leftover from when he'd cracked. The very same that daydreamed about killing people brutally. He shoved the thought away. "I promise," he finished with a genuine little smile. 

Sam just nodded slowly. 

There was a stretch of silence before Dean perked up suddenly, breaking both of them out of the tense and gloomy mood. He stood and clapped his hands together once, "right, so, if that's over with, wha'd'ya say we find out who we should be frying?"


	34. Chapter 34

Sam easily uncovered the identity of their killer: one Diana Norton, suicide off the haunted apartment building only two years back. The remains were routinely found, dug up, salted and burned. They scanned the building for EMF one last time before heading off. 

It took a full day of driving to get there. Dean had been asking countless questions on the way: what's in the books? How many are there? How many people actually read them? As well as what happened the first time Sam met the author, meeting the fan base, and any other details he could think of. By the time they pulled up to the run-down old house, Dean was more or less up to date, and pretty ticked off about the whole situation. 

Sam rang the doorbell and reminded Dean to at least _try_ not to attack the guy. He received a 'no promises' look from Dean as a response as the demon pushed the doormat out of the way with his foot. After a minute, the door opened as far as the chain lock on the other side would allow and a man peeked out, only able to see Sam through the crack. 

"Oh," he said, a slight tremor in his voice, "it's you." 

"Hey, Chuck. Got someone here who wants to talk to you. Wanna let us in?" Chuck nodded slightly and shut the door to remove the lock before opening it completely and standing aside. Sam walked in and Dean followed, looking over the collection of empty bottles, crumpled papers, and miscellaneous garbage cluttering the house. "So who wants to talk to me about what?" Chuck asked, closing the door and following them inside. 

"Name's Dean, you probably know me from my life story," Dean said, a small smile thinly covering his annoyance at the mousy writer standing in front of him. 

Chuck's eyes grew wide and he stepped back; Dean could clearly feel his fear and confusion. "W-wait," he stammered out, "Dean? Y-you can't be here." 

Sam spoke up, confused, "you didn't see this?" 

"No! Dean's still dead," he insisted, turning to the deadman in question, "you should still be in Hell. I never saw you getting out." 

Dean glanced at Sam, then back to Chuck. "Well obviously, I'm here." 

"What's going on, Chuck?" 

He just shook his head and shuffled over to the open bottle on the table, shakily pouring a glass and lowering himself onto the couch. 

"Chuck?" Sam repeated, concerned. 

The prophet shook his head again while downing the dark liquid in one gulp. He looked up at the brothers standing over him, "I don't know." He said, "the last couple months have been... really weird." 

Dean scoffed, "yeah, us too," he mumbled. 

Sam shot him a look then turned back to Chuck. "Weird how?" 

"I've been seeing a whole bunch of things. Different timelines, kind of. It's a jumble. I had to stop writing, couldn't keep it all straight. Like, sometimes you're there," he gestured to Dean, "and then you're dead for good again, and then you're back, then suddenly you've been gone for years and it's just not... flowing anymore. And then like a week ago they just stopped entirely. I don't know why." 

"Well have you heard anything lately? Have they said anything about it?" Sam asked, concerned. 

Dean was confused by the whole thing. "Who?" 

Chuck just answered Sam, "no, nothing since my visions started going wacky. I've tried calling, but no answer." 

"Who?" Dean asked again. 

"Nothing at all?" 

"Nope." 

Dean was nearing the end of his patience, "can someone please tell me what's going on here?!" 

"Angels." Chuck answered simply. 

He raised an eyebrow, "angels? Seriously?" 

"Wait," Sam cut in with mild amusement, "Dean, you can't seriously say you still don't believe in them." Dean only shrugged. "Really? You're a demon, and you don't believe in angels?" 

"What does that have to do with it? I've still never met one." 

"Hold on," Chuck interjected nervously, "d-did you – did you just say he's a demon?" 

"Yeah," Dean said, turning unnatural midnight blue eyes on him, "how else you think I was gonna get sprung from the pit? By the way, you should really demon-proof your house better, that devil's trap under the mat ain't fooling anyone. Still think my life story is good reading material, hotshot?" 

Chuck didn't know how to respond, somewhat intimidated. "...it pays the bills." He finally mumbled. 

"Yeah, well not anymore. You don't have the right." 

"The angels seem to think I do —" 

Dean's anger was starting to come to the surface and Chuck was cowering away as the demon began to stalk forward. "Ugh, again with the angels!" Sam's hand on his shoulder reminded him to stay calm. He switched his eyes back to normal and shook off Sam's hand, continuing with marginally more control, "look, you can do whatever you want with the whole prophet thing, but my life isn't entertainment, got it? And neither is Sam's. I see any more books, I will personally hunt you down, and you don't want that. Capiche?" Chuck nodded weakly. "Great. We're off then." Dean started for the door. 

"You know, you really should believe in angels, Dean," the prophet called after him, trying and failing to hide the waver in his voice, "who knows, one might save you someday." 

This stopped him in his tracks, hand frozen on the door handle. He let out a small, humorless laugh. "I got nothing left to save, Chuck," he said flatly before quickly leaving the house. 

Sam turned to Chuck as soon as his brother left. "I'm really sorry about that." 

"No, he's right. No more books." 

"Good." He moved to leave. "You take care, Chuck. Keep in touch." 

Chuck just nodded as Sam left to join Dean, impatiently waiting in the impala.


	35. Chapter 35

Sam and Dean had nothing in particular to be running to or from, so they just stayed where they were for a bit, enjoying the small vacation. It consisted mostly of civil conversation and card games. 

But however calm and relaxed the pair appeared, there was far too much tension between them. Sam's worries about Dean were refreshed and intensified after learning about the change in eye color. He knew that this could be a good thing on a few levels: they didn't need to worry about demons at all anymore; few would want to cross Dean and those who did wouldn't stand a chance. Also, Dean now had near limitless power up his sleeves. Sam couldn't deny that hunting _was_ much easier since he showed up with all his demon tricks. 

At the same time, he knew what negatives it could entail. Most importantly, he wasn't so sure that Dean had everything under control. Ever since Dean returned after taking care of Marik and Iris, Sam noticed that he was quite a bit more short tempered and violent than he'd been before. Before he knew what had actually happened, Sam had tried to convince himself that he just had to get used to Dean's behavior again, but now that he knew the truth, the sudden change sort of scared him. Also worrisome was the blissful and far-off way Dean spoke about torture and the excitement towards his newfound power; Sam was almost afraid of how much he seemed to enjoy torturing someone to a breaking point, even if it was a demon. All in all, he was not afraid that Dean would hurt him in any way, but he was afraid that his brother was slipping closer to demonism and further from whatever remainder of humanity he claimed to have left. It was back to walking on eggshells to avoid raising his temper and sleeping restlessly, scared that something bad might happen while he was out. 

Dean, of course had his worries as well. That small voice in his head, the more demonic nature, was gradually growing stronger. He was constantly trying to suppress his thoughts; mental images of blood and fire, memories from his time in the torture division in Hell. Thoughts progressed even further to constant feelings of rage and hatred, uncontrollable urges to rip the world to shreds, watch it burn. He tried desperately to get away from such thoughts, but the rapidly growing demonic part of him got some sort of sadistic pleasure from them, so they kept getting pushed back to the surface. His rational mind, his humanity, was revolted by his subconscious and terrified that he may lose control again like he had in Hell, and this time not be able to gain it back. Dean resolved to use his powers as little as possible. Each little bit just kicked the beehive, made it harder to hold on and tempted him closer to that abyss of his insanity. 

Sam, as always, was his anchor. He was especially conversational while they had nothing to do, never wanting his mind to be idle. Sam was his reminder to keep fighting, not to let go of his humanity. The last thing Dean wanted was to let his brother see how bad it really was, how delicate his control had become. He didn't want Sam to see him as something unstable or inhuman. 

Of course, Sam, being human, couldn't be there constantly. It was worst when he was asleep and Dean was left alone. It was all he could do to hold on until morning, distract himself with some simple task to occupy his mind. The first night he was alone during their break, he'd decided to visit the local bar. Talk to people, maybe experiment with how much alcohol was required to actually take the edge off. In the end, he was kicked out for tossing a dart at someone's head (he had aimed it high enough to miss just to scare the guy a bit, however, the management didn't seem to appreciate the 'threat' or the dart now permanently embedded in the wall). He'd walked away with $50 from hustling pool, completely sober and feeling no better than before. After that incident, Dean decided not to trust himself around people without Sam as a sort of conscience. 

Three days into the break, Sam decided to go out, get some air, hear the local news, socialize a bit. He gave up trying to convince Dean to go with after about five minutes. Just as well, he thought. The unspoken worries from both created an uncomfortable tension, they needed a little time alone. Sure, Dean's rules were to not get separated, but at this point, would any demon be stupid enough to mess with either of them? 

Sam took the impala into town, ending up in a quaint little diner. He grabbed a newspaper on the way in and sat down for coffee and a light lunch. He was just browsing through the obituaries, hadn't even been served yet, when someone slid into the booth across from him. 

"Hey there," the man started causally, leaning his arms on the table. 

Sam folded his paper and looked up at the man, slightly confused. He noted that the man was wearing a heavy vest, the kind that was easy to conceal weapons in. He looked perhaps mid-thirties and had cropped hair and hardened features. The evidence was strongly leaning towards hunter. "Sorry, do I know you?" 

"No, but I like to think I know you a little. You see, my buddies and I have been following you and your, uh, partner around for a while," Sam became aware of one other man watching from a table not too far away, but knew better than to act out. The hunter continued, "and we aren't too happy with you two." 

"And why's that?" 

The man leaned in further and lowered his voice. "Cut the crap, you stink of sulfur. We know that the guy you're with is a demon, but you're not. So what we'd like to know is why you're working with him. Before you try anything, let me point out that I have a gun and backup. Now I want you to put your phone on the table." 

Sam sighed and, seeing no other option, did as he was told. "You're wasting your time," he said, "he's not going to fall for the whole live bait thing." 

"We'll just see about that, now won't we?" He responded, turning off Sam's cell before stowing it away. "Now you're going to calmly walk out of here and go around back. You try to run, you get shot. You try to fight, you get shot. Am I clear?" 

Sam weighed his options and took the only one that didn't end with a bullet. He nodded calmly, fully aware of the gravity of the situation. More than likely, these hunters had tracked Dean down for everything Marik and Iris did. They wanted to use Sam as bait to lure Dean into a trap. He was comforted by the fact that Dean was definitely not dumb enough to let himself be caught, as well as the fact that these hunters likely wouldn't kill a human just to catch a demon. He abandoned his newspaper and left the diner, casually walking around the corner and out of view of the diner's windows, aware that he was being followed by the two men from inside. When he rounded the corner to the back of the building, the inevitable third attacked him, covered his head with a burlap bag and used what felt like a double barrel shotgun to push him into a car.


	36. Chapter 36

When Sam had been gone for over two hours without checking in, Dean knew that something was wrong. A quick mental scan of the area showed that he was nowhere to be found. Starting to panic slightly, Dean pulled out the laptop, only to find that Sam's phone was off. No GPS. He stormed out of the motel room and headed into town. He found the car parked outside a little stand alone diner in the middle of the small town. Seeing his urgency, a waitress told him that she saw Sam come in for no more than two minutes then leave after another guy showed up and started talking to him. From her description, Dean was sure that Sam had been taken by hunters. Upon leaving the diner, Dean was thoroughly angry and panicked, but he reminded himself to at least try to be calm and focused. He couldn't do Sam any good if he lost his control now. 

He was calculating his next move when Sam suddenly appeared on his radar. Knowing hunters, he assumed that they had a few hex bags or some other warding to give themselves time to tie up Sam and set a trap. Dean took the removal of whatever wards as his cue to show up. He tracked Sam to the outskirts of town and wasted no time in teleporting there. 

Dean found himself standing in front of a large warehouse, definitely not abandoned, but there was no one there at the moment, save for Sam and three hunters whom he could sense inside the building. His mind whirred with how he would punish these hunters if they had harmed his brother in any way. Before bursting in, Dean conjured up a few storm clouds. They were expecting a strong and angry demon, so he figured why not play the part? Fear tended to be a a good instigator anyway. The sky grew dark and crackled with lightning. A small power rush came over him, but he quickly suppressed it. There were bigger matters at hand. He gave the sudden change in weather a minute to sink in before supernaturally ripping the door off its hinges and throwing it aside. 

Standing in the doorway, he surveyed the room. Sam was tied to a chair at the far end of the initial clear area, unconscious. The rest of the space was filled with piles of boxes, bundles of pipe, and miscellaneous other industrially packaged items. In his scan of the area he found a devil's trap painted on the floor immediately in front of the entrance. He took care of this quickly, forming a crack in the concrete across the edge with little more than a thought. Dean stepped inside, yelling into the air. 

"Alright, here I am!" No response. Dean slowly advanced further into the building. "You can come on out now, I know you're there," he said, threat clear in his voice. By this point, he'd crossed most of the small open area. Just before reaching Sam, however, he ran into an invisible wall. Surprised, he double checked the floor and ceiling. He thought for a second before thinking to look to the sides. Sure enough, he found another trap painted on the wall to his left. He shook his head at his oversight as the three hunters appeared from their posts around the warehouse. "You crafty sons of bitches. My mistake. Congratulations. What do you want?" 

One of them stepped directly between Dean and Sam. "Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing." 

"Me, I want you to untie Sam," he nodded towards his brother, "If he's not hurt, I might just let you walk free. If he is, well, I'll decide what I want to do from there." 

"You're the one trapped right now, so it doesn't look like you're gonna be calling the shots. So how about you just tell us your plan and we can send you back downstairs nice and easy?" 

Dean scoffed. "You're wasting your time. I don't have a plan. It might be hard to believe, but we're on the same team here." 

Another hunter to the right of him spoke up, "we hear the demons have some grand plan to wipe out humanity. You expect us to believe that you have nothing to do with that?" 

He chuckled a bit, "you guys are pretty late to the party. That ship sailed a while ago." 

"Oh really?" 

"Yeah really. Nipped it in the bud personally before it went anywhere. I told you, we're on the same side." 

"You? A demon? Now why don't I believe that?" 

Dean was starting to get annoyed. "Alright, how 'bout this: who told you that the demons had a plan in the first place?" 

The first man spoke again after a slight hesitation, "friend of mine." 

"This friend of yours happen to be Bobby Singer?" He took the hunter's furrowed brow as a yes. "And who do you think told him?" He jabbed a thumb at himself. 

"There's gotta be something in it for you," the hunter behind him spoke up. "Why would a _demon_ be working with hunters?" 

Dean turned to address him, "I _am_ a hunter. That's it." A splash of holy water came from behind him. It stung where it hit his skin directly, but didn't burn nearly as much as it had when he first got out. Even so, it irritated him. He angrily turned to the first hunter. If Sam weren't sitting right in his line of vision, Dean likely would have lost it then and there. Instead, he clenched his teeth and said nothing, just stared at the hunter with dark blue eyes. 

"We want the truth," the hunter with the holy water insisted, unfazed by Dean's glare. 

"I'm telling you the truth," he said in a low near-growl. 

"Yeah, you're a very virtuous hellspawn, got that," the hunter to his right said sarcastically, "but why are you hunting monsters? Last I checked, all demons want to do is raise some hell." 

Dean forced his eyes back to normal and turned to him. "Hell can stay where it is as far as I'm concerned. I just want to get back to work." 

"Back to work as a hunter." 

"Bingo. All I'm doing is fighting monsters with my little brother, like we have since we were kids. Is that so hard to believe? It doesn't matter that I'm a demon now. I'm still fighting the good fight, same as you." 

The first hunter laughed out loud. "You sad, delusional son of a bitch. Your brother?" He crouched down next to Sam, pulling his limp head up by a fistful of hair. "This isn't your brother. This is some human that you brainwashed into working with you. This," he switched his hold from Sam's hair to under his chin, "is the hunter who should have killed you a long time ago. But now, he's helping you do god knows what. We might even have to take him out too when we're done with you." 

Dean was infuriated. He got as close as the devil's trap would allow and growled out, "you don't know a damn thing. If you so much as touch him again, so help me, it'll be the last thing you ever do." A strong gust of wind blew through the warehouse to emphasize his point. 

"Oh, that struck a chord," the third hunter commented. "Doesn't look like we're gonna get anything out of this one, Hank." 

The hunter crouched next to Sam, Hank, sighed and nodded. "You're probably right." He gave Sam a hard pat on the back before standing directly in front of Dean, who was currently wishing he could reach out and strangle him. "Have fun in Hell. We catch you up here again, we'll kill you. Understood?" If looks could kill, Hank would have dropped dead that very second. "Go for it, Vic," the hunter said before turning back to Sam. 

The hunter to the right started reciting an exorcism, but Dean was unfazed. He stood perfectly still in the trap, staring daggers at Hank. The hunter was raising a hand to slap Sam awake when the exorcism stopped short. Hank turned to his companion, "what are you waiting for? Finish it." 

Vic looked uneasy, "um, it's not working." 

"What? What do you mean it's not working?" Hank turned and was met with a sly grin from Dean. 

The demon shook his head, visibly confident, "you're really gonna have to try harder than that. My turn." He closed his eyes in concentration, muttering his own Latin incantation. There was a loud boom of thunder and a blinding crack of lightning. Dean knew the second the trap was broken, felt all of his power rush back to him, bringing with it rage and hellfire and every violent daydream. He looked up at Hank with a demented smile and a malicious demon-eyed glare. "That's better." 

All three hunters were thrown in different directions. The other two were pinned against walls while Hank, obviously the leader of the operation, got Dean's special attention. He was thrown into the tall stack of boxes behind him then pulled up off the ground in a supernatural choke hold as Dean dramatically advanced. 

He knew that he could easily finish it right there, but he was enjoying himself too much to stop so soon. Dean reveled in the rush of power now, making no attempt to stop it. He made the storm rage outside and let himself enjoy the terror in the hunter's eyes. He figured it couldn't hurt to drag this out a little. "You know, you probably should've done your homework before just jumping into this. 'Cause this little setup you've got here would've worked just fine on some low-level demon, but any of them could've told you that I'm not something you want to mess with. It's a shame, we could have all gotten out of here alive. I've been trying to be good, I really have. And I've been doing pretty well, if I do say so myself. Haven't even hurt anyone yet." He immediately contradicted himself; sent a shock of pain to the man, something that would probably feel like being electrocuted, for the sole purpose of watching him squirm. "But then you come in and ruin it. Hunters just can't help sticking their nose where it doesn't belong." Hank was slammed against another pile of crates, "so you just had to go and make me mad, didn't you?" He couldn't help but laugh at the hunters' sheer terror. "Big mistake."


	37. Chapter 37

It was like coming out of a dream. Dean remembered everything that had happened in vivid detail, but it seemed somewhat unreal. It didn't seem like his power that had slowly twisted the third hunter's (he'd never heard this one's name) neck to such an unnatural angle, though he remembered the cracks and crunches as bone and tendons were stretched to breaking. He hardly recalled slamming the second hunter, Vic, into the wall hard enough to break his skull open like an egg, but there was the red stain dripping down the concrete and onto his limp figure. And it couldn't have been Dean that had supernaturally sent a pipe straight through Hank's middle then looked him in the eye with a malicious grin as he reached into the wound to grab hold of his frantically racing heart and slowly crush it. Yet here he sat, spattered with the man's blood, hands still dripping with the stuff as he surveyed the damage. He was pleased with his work, glad to be rid of this group of hunters, but some nagging voice told him that this was bad, this was very wrong. The human and demon portions of himself seemed to have switched places, the truly demonic part now dominant while his shred of humanity was reduced to an insignificant little voice in the back of his mind. 

Dean was gradually coming down from the strong power high, forcing himself to think. He had come here for a reason, what was it... 

His eyes crossed the figure still unconscious and tied to a chair in the middle of the carnage. _Right,_ he thought, _Sam._ The phrase 'keep Sammy safe' involuntarily ran through his head, prompted by that little voice of reason. This pulled Dean out of his reverie as he remembered exactly why he'd killed these men. He effortlessly cut the ropes off Sam, slung him over his shoulder, and teleported back to the motel, leaving the bodies for someone else to find. Dean carefully lowered his brother onto one of the beds, still unsure of his injuries, before going to clean off all evidence of the small massacre. 

Looking in the bathroom mirror, he found quite a lot of blood splattered across his face and shirt, a large smear painting the front of the grey tee where he'd carelessly wiped his fingers. His hands and forearms were stained red with sticky, drying blood. Behind the gore, his midnight blue eyes were practically shimmering, the full flood of power evident in this one feature that was truly his. He grinned at the whole sight, but the human bit in his mind protested enough that he finally showered and changed into new, non-blood-soaked clothes. 

Now entirely coming out of the dream-like state the massacre had put him in, Dean started to feel the repercussions of his actions. On a primal and sadistic level, he still enjoyed the memory of killing the hunters, but rationally, he felt something akin to guilt and regret (as close to guilt or regret as a demon can feel). Any friends those hunters had would be looking high and low for their killer. Maybe even family; Dean could directly relate to how irrationally people can act when protecting or avenging a family member. He couldn't really bring himself to care about causing these people grief, though some part of him thought maybe he should, but he did regret possibly putting Sam on their radar for 'helping' him. His guilt was for the fact that he hadn't even considered them while mercilessly killing those men. He still didn't care about them, but he realized that this had to be some sign of losing his humanity. As a human, all those years ago, Dean was sure that he never could have done anything like that. He wondered what he'd say when Sam woke up, how he'd explain himself. He'd let himself down, been weak enough to give in to his demonic side. He'd let his brother down, let go, lost control, even though he promised that he never would. And just when he felt that he was starting to gain some trust back, too. 

Dean sat on the table, set his feet on a chair, and rest his head on clasped hands, allowing himself to think and breathe before Sam woke up. 

....... 

The last thing Sam remembered was the hunters tying him up in a warehouse and trying to interrogate him. Mostly, they wanted to know about Dean, why Sam was working with a demon, what 'it' wanted, what made him think that 'it' could be trusted. They said they were giving him 'a chance to redeem himself', that they could forgive him for working with a demon if he told them everything. They made it sound like Sam was an unwitting part of some evil plan, like Dean was manipulating him. 

Of course, he didn't tell them anything aside from how bad their plan was. How Dean would show up and he would be pissed. He'd warned them that he wouldn't let them catch him, that it was probably a bad idea to make him mad. In the end, he was knocked unconscious as they burned their hex bags. 

Now, Sam woke up on a bed in the motel room. He propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head and ringing in his ears. As his eyes focused, he became aware of Dean sitting on the table, head down. 

"Hey, what'd I miss?" Dean didn't react. Sensing that something was wrong, Sam sat up completely and moved to the edge of the bed. "Dean?" Silence. "Dean, what happened?" He asked with genuine concern. 

Dean shook his head slightly. "I shouldn't have let you leave," he said quietly, "Our luck, I should have known something bad would happen." Sam noticed a strange undertone in his voice, dangerous. Dean lifted his head slightly to look at him. "I'm not okay, Sammy. I've been acting like everything's fine, like nothing's changed, but that's not true." 

"What're you talking about?" 

"Those hunters that took you? I killed them. All of them." A small, frightening grin appeared on Dean's face, "And I enjoyed it. A lot. I probably should feel bad, but I don't, I'd do it again in a second. 'Cause I know what I am now." 

Sam stood and started moving towards his brother slowly, hoping he'd be able to calm him. "Dean, stop. We can fix this." 

"No!" He shouted suddenly, stopping Sam in his tracks. "Don't you get it? There's nothing to fix. This isn't just some minor slip-up. This is what I am. I'm a demon, Sam. All this time I've been pretending like I'm not, but who am I kidding? Killing those hunters, that's the best I've felt since I got outta Hell. I'm not a human, I'm not a hunter. I'm just another demon." Sam started to protest, but Dean held up a finger to silence him before continuing, "I'm not as innocent as you think either. Everyone I come across, I just can't help it, I kill them in my head. Hundreds of different ways. I tried not to think like that at first, but you know, I'm almost starting to like it. Good entertainment. The thing is, I just don't care anymore. I don't care about anyone. You're no exception." He hopped down from the table and straddled the chair, looking directly at Sam. "I mean, it's not like I want you dead, but the amount of times I've imagined it..." He trailed off, looking somewhat guilty. When he spoke again, it sounded more controlled and sober. "But then there's that little... Human... part of me that says you're still my brother and I should watch what I think, what I say, what I do. Because I don't want to hurt you. I really don't. So you have to kill me." He finished unemotionally, simply stating a fact. 

Sam was shocked and somewhat frightened by Dean's whole confession. Even so, he was appalled by his 'solution'. "No," he said finally, "no there has to be some other way." 

"There _is_ no other way and you know it. I lost my temper and I lost control. You know that it's going to happen again and I might not come out of it, so I'm telling you now while I'm still thinking straight: I want you to kill me." His voice became quiet and sad, "please, for whatever's left of your brother. I don't want to be a monster. Bottom line: if you don't, I'll end up going out and wreaking havoc until some other hunter comes along and finishes it. I don't want to bring it to a threat but there's not many things worse than a suicidal demon," his eyes flashed blue briefly for emphasis. "So what do you say?"


	38. Chapter 38

Sam didn't know what to say. He could almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. 

"Are you serious?" 

"Deadly." 

Sam shook his head. "I'm not going to kill you, Dean." 

"Why not? I should be dead right now anyway." 

"That doesn't make any difference, you're here now. I'm going to fix this." 

Dean scoffed, "Yeah? How?" 

"I don't know, but I'll find something. I should have been looking for some cure as soon as you got back." 

"You're gonna try to turn me back? I don't even know if that's possible." 

"Well I'll find something," Sam repeated, determined. 

"And what if something like this happens again? I don't think you get just how hard it is to keep controlled right now." 

"Nothing's going to happen." Sam said confidently. 

"To be honest, I can't make any promises." 

"Then we're going to Bobby's right now." 

"Bobby's? You're gonna lock me up, aren't you?" 

"Are you gonna make a big deal about it? Because if you're not playing nice, I don't have to either." 

Dean thought for a moment. If he agreed, he'd be locked in a specially designed demon prison for who-knows-how-long. On the other hand, he didn't want to die, he just saw it as the only alternative. Truthfully, he didn't trust himself at the moment either, he thought perhaps a prison would be the best option. If he couldn't get out, he wouldn't be able to do any harm. He finally nodded, "I guess that's something. I don't know what the hell you think you're gonna be able to do, but at least I won't be able to hurt anyone." 

After Sam called to give Bobby a heads up, they were quickly on the road to Sioux Falls. It was only a few hours' drive and they arrived sometime around midnight. Sam parked the car in front of the old house and turned to his brother, who had been silent the whole ride and was currently tightly gripping the door and staring out the window. 

"You sure you want to do this?" 

Dean didn't move when he responded, his voice grave. "Don't really have a choice, do I? You really think you can find something?" 

"I'm gonna do my best. There has to be something out there." He knew that the possibility of some miracle fix was astronomically slim, but now wasn't really the time for the truth. He just needed to persuade Dean into the safe room with as little commotion as possible. The last thing they needed was for him to disappear again. 

Dean nodded slightly, sensing Sam's doubt. "Just promise me one thing," he finally turned to face his brother, "don't sell your soul. No matter how good the deal might seem, it's not worth it. I don't want you to end up like this." 

"Alright." Sam said softly. 

"I'm serious." 

"I won't. I promise." It was, of course, a hollow promise. Even as he said it, Sam knew that if some crossroads demon was willing and able to help Dean, he would seriously consider a deal, whatever the cost. 

"And you can't lock me up forever. If you can't find anything in a month or so, I want you to come back and finish it. Can you do that?" 

That wasn't going to happen either. There was no way in hell Sam would be able to kill his own brother, demon or not. He nodded anyway. Again, this wasn't a time for truth. 

"Well," Dean said, finally opening the door, "ready as I'll ever be. Let's go." 

Sam rang the doorbell and Bobby answered seconds later. He warily eyed Dean before letting them inside and leading them downstairs. 

No one really had anything to say. Bobby had known this would happen eventually, but avoided I-told-you-so's while Dean was within earshot. Sam felt bad for locking Dean away, but knew that it was the only way to both be safe and keep his brother alive. He was silent as he stooped to break the devil's trap in front of the safe room so that Dean could enter. 

Dean felt like a fugitive. Yes, he was willingly walking into a prison cell, but that wasn't the reason. It was the way Sam and Bobby were acting towards him; like he was a stranger. A dangerous stranger. Which, to be fair, was true to some degree. He was dangerous, and Bobby knew it better than Sam did. But even with minimal control, that stubborn little human portion would never let him hurt them: the little brother that he'd practically raised and the most stable father figure in his life. He could clearly feel their fear and mistrust. Dean had nothing more to say. He'd made his parting comments before getting out of the car, not really expecting to make it out of this whole thing alive or sane. He gave the large circular pattern on the floor a pensive glare before resolutely stepping into it. He soberly looked over the two hunters as they shut and bolted the salted-iron door, leaving the window-like hatch open. As if that would make it feel any less like a prison. 

Sam gave a weak smile through the small opening and Dean silently responded with a final nod. He watched Sam and Bobby walk upstairs before settling onto the cot in the middle of the room. He knew that he shouldn't feel so resentful, this was for his own good. He just worried about how long he'd stay sane locked up like this. 

It reminded him of Hell somewhat. If he imagined blood streaked and splattered across the walls, miscellaneous instruments of torture, and that ever-present dim red light, then he could practically hear the familiar chorus of screams, smell the bitter tang of freshly spilled blood. Now that he thought about it, he saw no point in trying to think or act like a human now that there was no penalty for his thoughts. Dean could feel all of his power stripped away by the sigil, so he figured that losing control now would make no difference. Besides, he needed some source of entertainment while locked up. He closed his eyes and let himself slip into the dark daydream. On second thought, maybe sanity wasn't so precious after all.


	39. Chapter 39

Dean wished he could sleep. It had been days (though he couldn't be sure of exactly how many) and he was bored to death. Bobby came down to check in every once in a while but never stayed long enough for conversation. He tried to keep himself busy, but there really was nothing to do, seeing as Bobby had completely cleared out any items in the room aside from the cot. He refused to grant Dean anything, be it a ball to bounce off the wall, a book, or even any food ("I ain't a maid, boy. I know you don't need to eat, you just feel like bein' a pain in my ass"). So he was just laying on the cot, watching the small fan on the ceiling grate and thinking back to his hundred-year rampage in the pit. 

"Dean, Dean, Dean..." A mocking and disapproving voice came from just outside the room. Dean stood to peek through the small opening in the door. A woman in tight jeans and a black jacket was casually pacing in front of the door, carefully avoiding the repaired devil's trap. "Look at you, locked up like a dog. See, _this_ is why you shouldn't trust hunters." 

"Iris," Dean concluded, the trap must have prevented him from sensing her, "So let me guess, Marik scurried home tail between his legs and you're pissed." 

"Something like that." She said with a small smile. "Honestly, I don't understand you. You go so far to convince everyone of how powerful you are then you just go and disappear again without even checking in on your... domain." She said it hesitantly, everyone in the torture division knew how much Iris looked down on them. "Either way, I was actually kind of impressed when I saw what you did to Marik. I really underestimated you." 

Dean shrugged, "what can I say? I've got a gift." 

"Then why are you caged up? That old hunter upstairs doesn't look all that clever. Something as strong as you shouldn't be held down by some blundering humans." 

"None of your business. Cut to the chase, I'm assuming you're not just here to chat." 

"Well you see, I was going to kill you, but the boss won't allow it. So I'm just going to have to go for your weak point." 

"I don't have a weak point, sweetheart." Dean said, though he feared he knew what was coming next. 

"Oh please," Iris scoffed, stopping to face him, "what about your baby brother? You know, the one you told us you killed." 

Dean's eyes flashed blue and narrowed in anger. He slammed a hand against the invisible wall created by the trap. "What did you do?" 

"Nothing. Yet. I just thought I should tell you first so you know that anything that happens to him is your fault. You hurt someone I care about, now it's my turn." She loosed a small, threatening laugh, strange coming from the unassuming form she was in, "And you've made it so easy for me, getting yourself locked up like this. An eye for an eye, Dean." She spit out his name like venom. "Your little human pet is going to be begging me to kill him." 

By now, Dean was seething with anger, though not showing it for fear of looking weak. "Why can't you just kill me? That's what you want, isn't it?" 

"Oh believe me, I would love to. But like I said: boss's orders. No one touches the little prince. Unlike you, I'm no rebel." 

"Someone's ordering you around? Who?" 

Iris gave a lopsided grin, eyes flicking over to a dark purple, "ah ah ah, life's no fun without a little mystery. I'll see you in Hell, Dean." 

"You should hope you never see me again." Dean managed to fit in before she disappeared. 

....... 

Sam was frustrated beyond belief. He felt like a clock was ticking, counting down his allotted month. He didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't find anything. There was no way he was going to kill his brother, but at the same time, he definitely couldn't leave Dean locked up, and letting him out was out of the question, he was just too unstable. Sam was terrified of losing his brother again, he'd hardly been able to get through the last time. 

It had been little more than a week, but he was at the end of his resources. Every hour spent scouring the Internet had come up fruitless. He got nothing from textual resources, from relatively new books to tediously translated ancient texts. He'd even tried contacting some hunters who, after lengthily questioning his reasons for the research, weren't able to tell him anything useful. 

He was unable to sleep, overwhelmed with aggravation and helplessness as he reached the end of yet another frivolous textbook. He attempted to relax, but his mind refused to rest. Knowing full well that he would regret this later, he put together a tin and drove out to the middle of nowhere until he found an ideal intersection of two gravel roads. He'd promised Dean that he wouldn't do this, but he was getting nowhere in his efforts. It was worth a shot. He buried the box and waited. 

"Hello there," a voice came from behind him, "how can I be of assistance?"


	40. Chapter 40

Sam turned to face the crossroads demon, taking a deep breath before continuing. He didn't know if it was even possible for a demon to help him, but, seeing as he was fresh out of options, he figured there was no harm in trying. He picked his words carefully, knowing that he didn't even need to make a deal if he could somehow just get information. "Would you happen to know of anything that can cure a demon?" 

"Hm, depends on what you mean by 'cure'." She responded, starting to slowly advance on him. 

"I know that demons were human once, is there any way to get that back?" 

"Well that's certainly one I've never heard before. Usually people just ask for money or power. What makes you ask something like that?" 

"Doesn't matter. Can you do it or not?" Sam asked, impatient. 

"That's a tricky one. Personally, I definitely can't; not even sure if it's possible. But I do know of someone. He's the expert when it comes to making demons, so I'd say if anyone can reverse it, it'd be him." 

"A demon?" She nodded once. "Who?" She suddenly became serious, "hold on. He might be _able_ to help, but that doesn't mean he will. And, take my word, you really don't want to meet him." 

"What if I do?" 

She shrugged. "Then you're just going to have to find him yourself. I'm sorry, but no deal is worth going to talk to _him._ He's the most dangerous thing I've ever come across." 

Sam was starting to doubt if he really wanted this. Still, even a 'maybe' was a lot more promising than anything else he'd found. "I'll judge that for myself. What would I have to do to talk to him?" 

"Gotta ask all the hard questions, don't you? I would say get some other demon willing to go to Hell to find him, but last I heard, he hasn't been downstairs for about forty five years. Plus, he can't be summoned like most, doesn't really play by the same rules as the rest of us. But, if you're hellbent on getting yourself killed, then rumor has it that he'll come running if you mess with that human he's been hanging around with." 

Sam released his tense breath, breaking eye contact with the crossroads demon. He shook his head, nearly laughing. "You've got to be kidding me." He mumbled. 

"What's so funny?" 

"This demon wouldn't happen to be Dean Winchester, would it?" 

She tilted her head, brow furrowed. "You know him?" 

"Yeah, I know him. I'm 'that human he's been hanging around with'." It was probably just the stress and lack of sleep finally getting to his head, but he couldn't help but laugh. "Well, if you don't have anything helpful, I think we're done here." 

The demon's eyes were wide, half scared half surprised. She finally found her voice as Sam was walking away. "So you don't want to make any deal? Any at all? Information isn't cheap, you know." 

"Why would I pay for something I already knew?" He said without turning back to her, "besides, you really think Dean would let me make a deal with the likes of you?" 

....... 

"Bobby!" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs, "hey, Bobby!" He kept making noise until the old hunter finally came downstairs. 

"What is it?" He asked irritably, standing in front of the heavy door. 

Dean spoke in a hurry, grasping at his control desperately so as to get as much trust from Bobby as possible. "Okay, I know that this isn't going to sound good, but you need to let me out." 

"Why would I do that?" 

"Because Sam's in danger and it's my fault and if I don't get out of here he's as good as dead." 

Bobby glared at him for a moment. "Look, I don't know if I can believe a word comin' outta your mouth, but when it comes to Sam, I really hope you're tellin the truth. You say he's in trouble, he'd damn well be in trouble. I hope you wouldn't stoop that low just to get out." 

"Bobby, listen to me. I'm telling the truth. It's Iris, she's back and she's after Sam." he just barely managed to keep his voice calm, though inside he was a whirlwind of panic and hatred and rage. 

"How do you know?" 

"She came here and told me herself. Think about it, doesn't it smell like sulfur out there?" 

"'Course it does, whole damn house does." 

"But even more right there. It's because she was just here. Come on, Bobby, please. I know why I'm in here and I know that the last thing you wanna do is trust me, but this is Sam we're talking about. I could kill Iris, save Sam, and come right back here because I know I'm here for my own good." He wasn't even paying attention to what he was saying, too frantic and desperate. His teeth and fists were tightly clenched in the effort of appearing controlled, eyes occasionally flickering to blue faster than a human could detect. He could tell that Bobby wanted to believe him, wanted to think that there was still some of Dean left in there somewhere. 

He looked away and finally said, "Sam's a grown man and he don't need you to take care of him anymore. If anythin's really wrong, he'll call me and I'll go help, but there's no way in hell I'm lettin' you outta there." With that, he walked away, muttering a small 'sorry' that likely wouldn't have been audible to human ears. Dean yelled after him as he walked up the stairs, but got no further response. 

As soon as Bobby was gone, something just snapped in Dean's mind. Everything Dean had been trying to suppress came bubbling to the surface, the anger and fear and hatred and panic. It was overwhelming. He tried to stay calm, but it was just too much to hold back. His control, his human façade, slipped away completely and his true self, the vicious demon that could kill without a second thought and tortured demons and humans alike for fun, finally broke through. He pounded at the invisible wall created by the trap and let loose screams of pent up frustration and rage. He didn't know how long the fit lasted, but it felt good to loose a little anger. He was throwing away all of his efforts to be controlled up to this point, but he didn't care. It was different from when he'd lost control of his power and killed those hunters because this time, all of his power was locked away by the trap. This was worse. This was the thin veil of his sanity finally melting away. 

When the initial flood subsided, Dean shakily lowered himself to the floor where the cot had been (he'd hurled it at the wall at some point in his anger) and contemplated alternate methods of escape. The nice way hadn't worked, so it looked like he would have to go with something more abrasive. Even now, running on pure emotion and instinct, he was driven by one basic thought: 'keep Sammy safe'. He knew he had to save Sam, he had to kill Iris, and to do that, he had to get out of this damned cell. 

His eyes fell on the overturned cot leaning against the wall and an idea dawned on him. The devil's trap did lock away his power, but the supernatural strength wasn't all too affected. With some difficulty, he broke a leg off the cot, then used the floor to smash and whittle it down to a spear-like implement. He used it to slice and mangle his meat suit, making as much of a bloody mess as he could. He supposed that his sense of feeling was dulled because what should have been blinding pain was merely a tickle. Satisfied with his work, he focused the remainder of his energy and left the mangled body with a strangled scream. It was difficult with the sigil's limitations, but after a couple tries, he was free. The demon ascended as far as the small room would allow and waited patiently for his opportunity.


	41. Chapter 41

After learning what he had done to deserve being locked away, Bobby concluded that, however similar he seemed, Dean was as good as gone. He wanted desperately to believe that the human part of him was still in there somewhere, that he could be saved. And he had believed it to some degree, but any hope was gone by now. 

Maybe it was always a ruse or maybe he was finally pushed too far, being locked up and believing that Sam was in danger, but Dean just snapped. Bobby had seen plenty of trapped demons loose it, but this level of rage and insanity far surpassed anything he'd ever witnessed. Screams echoed throughout the whole house, his yells and cursing switched from English to Latin at some point early on. It felt like it lasted hours, days even, and every second made Bobby more and more doubtful that there was anything out there that could save Dean. Or if he even wanted to be saved. Maybe there wasn't enough humanity left to salvage. As far as he knew, Dean wasn't just some run-of-the-mill demon either, the blue eyes were proof of that. He had some kind of authority in Hell, so that must mean that he was also probably quite a bit stronger than the kind of demons they usually saw. And more power would mean he was further from being human. 

However, there was still the chance that he had been telling the truth, that Sam really was in danger. It quickly became obvious that the noise coming from downstairs wasn't going to stop any time soon, so he stepped outside to give Sam a call. 

He answered after the first ring, _"Hey Bobby, what's up?"_

"Just callin to check in. You find anythin yet?" 

_"Nothing, you?"_

"Nada." 

_"How's he doing?"_

Bobby hesitated, he just barely hear muffled screams from inside, "not too good." 

_"He trying to get out?"_

"Sounds like it, yeah. Look, I know you don't wanna think it, but you know there's probably no chance we can help him." 

There was a stretch of silence before Sam responded, sounding tired and put out, _"I know. Doesn't mean I'm going to stop looking."_

"Alright. You okay?" 

_"Fine. Keep me updated if anything happens."_

Bobby wanted to tell him how bad it had really gotten: that Dean was seeing things, the state he was in now, that he seemed to be going insane and fast. That he was starting to think of Dean more as a demon than an afflicted hunter. But he didn't. He couldn't bring himself to break Sam's hope that he could save his brother, or what was once his brother. He couldn't quite put it into words. So he just wished him luck, told him to be careful, and ended the call. 

Bobby went back inside and settled in with a fifth of whiskey and a glass, prepared to wait out the storm. He halfheartedly contributed to Sam's search by skimming through his collection of books on demons and other monsters, all the while watching the clock. Five minutes turned into ten. Thirty. It was going on an hour when the pained and angry noises suddenly gave way to a dead silence. A pounding noise started after a minute or so, metal against metal, and the screams came back shortly after that. Only six minutes more and it was silent again. 

Bobby waited and listened for a few minutes, but nothing happened. The absolute silence was unnerving, especially after such relentless noise. Concerned, he grabbed the knife Sam had left with him ("just in case, but not for Dean, whatever happens" he'd said, but if need be, Bobby was going to use it to protect himself) and headed downstairs. 

"Dean?" He said while approaching the locked room. No response. He got near enough to see the wall on the other side of the window where the cot was leaned up on its side, one leg broken off, covered with scratches and, was that blood? "Dean?" He called out again, more warily, and tightened his grip on the knife. "Answer me, boy." As he got closer, more of the scene was visible. There were various symbols scrawled in blood on the floor, none of which Bobby recognized. Dean's body lay motionless in the center of the room, brutally torn open, coated in blood, eyes glazed over, staring unblinking and unfocused at the ceiling. 

He was shocked by the whole scene, wondering what could have done this. Dean _had_ said that he saw Iris. It was technically possible for another demon to enter the room if they broke the traps first, and he _had_ left the house briefly, plenty of time for someone, or something, to break in. He kicked himself for not coming down to check earlier, only now realizing that the horrible sounds he'd heard could have been Dean being tortured. He may have waited just long enough to let his attackers go free. Bobby allowed himself a second to soak in the gruesome sight before reluctantly deciding to open the door. He concluded that Dean was dead, remembering what Sam had told him about the binding link. Plus, he'd seen a demon try to smoke out while trapped, it was impossible. He needed a better look at those symbols too, they could be something important, something bad. 

The door creaked deafeningly in the silence. Vibrant red painted the ground, got on Bobby's shoes as he cautiously stepped in to get a better look. He looked over the various symbols while making his way to the center of the room where Dean's body lay. He knew that demons could take quite the blow and be just fine, so he felt obligated to check for life. The knife was held at the ready as he felt for a pulse. Nothing. He turned away, partially to look at the symbols, mostly because he couldn't stand the sight of Dean like this, he looked too much like the body they buried seven years ago. 

As soon as he turned around, a thick cloud of blue smoke descended from the ceiling and surrounded him. He had no time to react before the demon overtook him completely and everything went black. His last thought was how great a mistake he'd made opening that door.


	42. Chapter 42

Sam snapped his phone shut after Bobby hung up. He hadn't said much, but Sam could hear his concern. He genuinely thought that all hope was lost. For all Sam knew, it might have been. Bobby had been there with Dean the past week, saw how he must have been deteriorating. Sam hadn't been oblivious to his difficulty in keeping control, he knew that nothing good could come from locking him away on his own. The last time they were separated ended with three dead hunters, and that was after only a few hours; who know what toll a whole week isolated in a single room could take on his sanity. Sure, it had taken hundreds of years for him to break in Hell, but now the seed was planted and he could tell that Dean was ready to burst any moment. 

He hated to think of his brother as dangerous or unstable, but given the circumstances, it was pointless to lie to himself. In any other situation, he and Dean would quickly and easily decide to kill the monster, no fuss. Even without the body count, Dean would say to finish it. A demon's a demon, he'd say, if they let it live, there'd only be hell to pay later. He essentially had said that, even though it was now his own head on the chopping block. Sam knew deep down that it would probably be best to just end it, but he couldn't possibly bring himself to accept it because this wasn't just another case. This was his brother, brought back from the dead. Dean had willingly damned himself to save Sam; he figured some sacrifice, or at least some effort, was due in return. 

At the end of the day, Sam could only pray that Dean was still fighting. He just couldn't let Dean die again. He'd barely made it through the first time and this would be worse; final. But however horrible his death would be, Sam knew that if Dean lost himself, lost his mind, became like the other demons... he probably wouldn't live through that. Wouldn't want to. It already tore him to shreds to see his sanity so close to snapping, see what could only be described as madness emerge in his eyes whenever they changed. Hope and prayer were his primary lifelines now. 

"So is that the plan? Just try to lock Dean away until you can 'cure' him? Adorable." 

Sam jumped out of his seat at the voice and turned to see a woman casually leaning against the wall next to the door. He instantly reached for the gun on the counter, but quickly lost the ability to move. The woman grinned at him while waving a hand downwards. He was forced back to the chair and invisibly secured there. A demon definitely, and a strong one too. Seeing as she was familiar with the situation, it could only be one; Dean had told him what he did to Marik, but he never said anything about Iris. 

"You see, there's just a few problems with that plan of yours," she continued, stepping forward. "First, there's nothing that can 'cure' a demon, only an idiot would think that something so powerful can just be cleared away. Second, your precious Dean doesn't want to change. He's gone, he's getting closer to our side every minute, even you have to be able to see that. He's too strong, he doesn't want to be _human."_ She said it with disgust. "Third, you ought to know that he's not the same as the human you knew. Hell will change a soul so much that it might as well be someone different entirely. Dean remembers being human, so sure, he'll put on an act, but that's all it is. An act. Truth is, by the time he ran away, he was gladly torturing souls, carving them into demons by the dozen. Even if you could make him human, he's too far gone to be the same. But that's looking too far ahead," she bent so that her face was uncomfortably close to his, a subtle hint of sulfur on her breath and a grin that was somehow both sweet and terrifying on her thin lips. Her eyes glazed over to a deep, reflective purple. "Somehow, I have a feeling that you're not going to be around long enough to even try." 

....... 

In possessing the old hunter, Dean had planned to simply take control and push the human consciousness aside. However, he was still limited by the devil's trap. He could feel Bobby clawing for control, fighting to take his body back. He decided to remedy this as quickly as possible. Everything had fallen into place perfectly: Bobby was lured into the room by his nonsense symbols, he'd know the hunter would be curious; thinking that there was danger, he brought the knife Sam had left with him, the demon knife. That was important, because without the charms and spells forged into it, he probably wouldn't be able to use it to escape. He crouched down to remove the paint of the trap, satisfied when he instantly felt his power flow back to him. _**'Sorry, Bobby,'**_ he thought, half to himself, as he easily forced the extra consciousness to the side and locked him away, _**'this would have been a lot easier if you weren't such a stubborn son of a bitch.'**_

Dean _did_ want his own body back, ever the sentimentalist. However, seeing as it was already so torn to pieces and he would have to expend the energy to fix it anyway, he took this opportunity to do what he'd been wanting to since he got back. 

In his time carving bodies in hell, Dean had once discovered the intricacies of the inner ear. Specifically, the tiny bones hidden there. He wanted to get rid of any possible weaknesses, and, though there was some debate about it in the hunter community, it _was_ true that demons could be killed by burning their bones. The catch was that if there was a single one missing, it wouldn't work. These tiny inner ear bones would not be missed, there would be no visible sign of their absence as there would if he took off a toe or something. Also, there were six of them which could easily be spread out and hidden, untraceable. He was now thinking in terms of what he really wanted, and he _really_ didn't want to die. He didn't want to be able to be killed. So if he was going to stick with his own body, he needed insurance in case someone decided to roast him. 

He made quick work of it and ended up with a palmful of small bones. Pleased, he cleaned the blood off on Bobby's shirt tail and tucked them into his own pocket to take care of later. He then switched off the lights in Bobby's mind, putting him into a coma-like sleep so that he wouldn't get in the way later (something in the back of Dean's mind wouldn't let him kill him), and passed back into his own body. 

Repairs were difficult and tiring, yet effective. Dean was able to put everything back together (aside from the missing bones, which proved completely unnecessary for normal function) in a matter of minutes. He lifted his renewed body off the floor and stretched before teleporting himself and Bobby out of that damned room. He left the hunter unconscious on the couch and was finally on his way to protect Sam.


	43. Chapter 43

Sam found himself completely at the demon's mercy. Iris had tied him so tightly to the chair that his hands were numb. She also somehow took away his ability to speak or scream for help. He was currently wishing that Dean wasn't locked up. His big brother wouldn't be able to save him this time, and this time, he was in big trouble. 

His heart quickened in panic when the demon finally finished tying him up and stepped in front of him. She flashed him a wide smile. "Let's get started, shall we?" She lifted an open hand and slowly closed it into a fist, eliciting a silent scream from Sam. Red hot pain coursed through his entire body and just intensified the more tightly she clenched her fist. His muscles spasmed wildly and a sweat broke on his forehead. He couldn't tell how long it lasted, but he was relieved when the searing pain subsided just as suddenly as it started. Sam forced himself to look up to see why. 

Iris appeared next to him with a knife, the cool blade pressed against his neck. He tried to lean away, but his bindings made escape impossible. The tip of the knife bit into the sensitive skin right at the pulse point. She sliced open the major artery with care and Sam quickly felt woozy as blood spilled in spurts in time with his panicked heartbeat. Iris wasn't just going to kill him, she was going to torture him until he bled out. She didn't need any information and he was of no use to her. She just wanted revenge. Which meant that she would make him suffer for as long as he survived. 

Iris was now idly carving into his arm, cutting deep through muscle and scratching the bone at points. She made a point to be slow about it, drawing out each slice to its full potential. Sam writhed in pain and tears involuntarily rolled down his face as chunks of flesh were carved away. When she was done there, he had lost all feeling and motion in that arm. He was lightheaded and drowsy from the massive blood loss. His vision blurred as Iris moved in front of him. There was another surge of burning pain, but it was cut short. 

Sam could focus just enough to see that Iris had been pinned against the wall and another blurry figure was crossing the room to her. There was talking, but Sam couldn't make it out through the ringing in his ears. He couldn't quite process what was happening, meanwhile slipping in and out of consciousness. He figured that he'd bleed out soon. If not, perhaps this other demon would be merciful enough to just kill him quickly. 

_'I'm sorry Dean,'_ he thought, trying to accept the fact that he was going to die, _'I tried.'_

....... 

Sam was easy to find, (for some reason, his hex bags were gone). Dean tracked him to some motel in Nebraska and was there in an instant. He appeared just outside the room. It was silent, but he could clearly feel Iris inside. He burst through the door and directed a blast at the demoness, sending her back against the wall and pinning her there. 

Iris looked terrified, "you're here? How? You were trapped." 

Dean grinned, "no cage can hold me, sweetheart." He clenched his fist and twisted it in the air and was rewarded with a pained shriek. 

"Just kill me," she said, hiding the plea with an angry tone, "you don't need me, so just get it over with." 

Dean shook his head, "not so fast. Who's your boss? Who wants me alive?" 

She chuckled and shook her head but said nothing. Dean again clenched his fist, causing Iris to spasm against the wall, whimpering weakly. "Tell me" he commanded. 

Her breaths were coming in little hitched gasps and her head was limply hanging. "Who do you think?" She managed, voice grave and quivering. "My boss. Marik's boss. Your boss. He calls all the shots. His word is final. Why he wants you, I can't begin to imagine. But he's got big plans for you, Dean." She looked up at him with purple eyes and a lopsided grin. "And he'll get his way, no matter what you do." 

"I don't have a boss." Was Dean's only response. He wanted nothing more than to make her suffer for what she'd done to Sam, perhaps put her aside for some special attention next time he was in Hell, but there were more pressing matters at the moment. He settled on simply killing her, though not all too quickly. There was a scream and a flash of orange light before Dean let the limp body fall to the floor.


	44. Chapter 44

A pair of strong hands was jostling Sam's shoulders, slowly pulling him back to reality. He didn't want to wake up, the dark unconsciousness was too comfortable. Even if he wanted to, he could hardly scrape up the energy to open his eyes. He could start to make out a frantic voice. 

"Sam? Sammy? Come on, dammit, wake up!" 

His mind was working sluggishly. He first registered the voice as Dean's, but couldn't process why it seemed so out of place. He then heard his panicked tone and wondered why he would be so scared. Had someone been hurt? He then made out his words. Was he hurt? What happened? He forced himself to think, remember, though his mind drowsily protested. The last thing he remembered was Bobby calling to check in, give him an update on Dean's condition. 

_Dean_

That's what seemed so strange: Dean was supposed to be locked up in Bobby's safe room. Because he might be dangerous. Because he was a demon. So how was he here? 

He tried to refocus. What had happened after Bobby called? 

The hands left his shoulders and he could hear aggravated mumblings that sounded suspiciously like Latin. Sam slowly became aware of his condition: a dizzying mix of lightheadedness and nausea, numbness in most of his left arm and a deep stabbing pain in his bicep and shoulder, a sharp sting in his neck, and a painful ache radiating through every bone and muscle. 

Then he remembered. Iris. How she'd trapped him, bled him, tortured him. He thought she was going to kill him. But then another demon showed up and stopped her. Only now did he make the connection that the demon that saved him had been Dean. But again, he wondered how Dean could have been there to save him. He was supposed to still be locked up. 

Now without Dean trying to shake him awake, Sam quickly found his partial consciousness again slipping away. Just like falling asleep. He liked that all of the pain and disorientation would disappear soon... 

The sharp bite of a knife on his chest jolted him back again. He forced his eyes open to find his brother crouched in front of him, demon-eyed, knife in hand. He winced as the blade sliced an X over his anti-possession tattoo. "Dean? W-what are you...?" He weakly started to ask. 

Dean stood and dropped the bloody knife to the floor. "You are _not_ gonna die." He said forcefully. "I'm not gonna let you." 

Sam's eyes finally focused as a cloud of dark blue smoke entered his line of vision. His head involuntarily whipped back and eyes snapped open as the smoke made its way down his throat, snaked into all the control centers. 

His entire body fell limp and his attention was brought inwards to the invading presence. 

_**'Sorry about this, Sammy.'**_ Dean's voice rang in his head, not really sounding all that sorry. 

Sam processed that he was possessed. That Dean was possessing him. It duly freaked him out. _'What are you doing in my head?'_ He directed the thought (small part scared, small part angry, large part confused) at Dean. 

_**'You're in really bad shape'**_ he replied, though he sounded preoccupied. _**'It was either this or take you to a hospital and you lose the arm and probably end up dead or brain damaged.'**_

Sam wasn't sure how to respond, still trying to get past the fact that his brother, the demon, was possessing him. Even so, he was beginning to regain feeling in his arm, the dizziness and nausea were clearing away, the general ache was gone, and he was starting to think more clearly. Dean was healing him from the inside out. 

After a short time, he spoke up again, _**'there, good as new.'**_

_'Dean, how are you even here?'_ Sam asked, unable to concentrate on anything but the impossibility of his brother's presence. 

_**'Hold that thought.'**_ Dean responded before leaving just as suddenly as he came. 

Sam took back his body as soon as Dean was gone. It took a second, but he was finally able to move on his own accord. Dean must have untied the ropes as well at some point. He idly ran a hand over his arm where Iris had carved down to the bone, finding Dean's repair work flawless. When he stood, Dean was already back in his own body and casually leaning against the wall. 

"You were saying?" He continued the mental conversation without hesitation. 

Sam eyed him warily. "Um yeah. How are you here? Bobby didn't let you out, did he?" 

"I let myself out." Dean replied easily, "didn't want to be there anymore." 

"But that's impossible. That room is a demon lockbox." Sam insisted, wary of the undertone in Dean's voice. It was the same odd, dangerous tone that was present when he told Sam about killing those hunters, or whenever he talked about Hell, or when he explained just what had happened to Marik. In short, Sam had learned that nothing good came along with that voice. 

"Maybe for the minor leagues it is. Lucky for you. You're welcome for saving your life, by the way." 

"Yeah, thanks for that." 

Dean scoffed and looked away, "well you'd better appreciate it, because it's the last time." 

"Wait, what do you mean?" 

Dean refused to look his brother in the eye, looking guilty or ashamed. "I mean I'm leaving. I keep putting you in danger, and I don't want to do that. You can take care of yourself from now on. You managed to survive seven years while I was in the pit, you don't need me to protect you. You go on with your life, I'll go on with mine." He said it all very matter-of-factly, making clear that he had no intention to negotiate. His face was hard and his eyes, though human in appearance, were cold, objective, detached, and somewhat foreign to Sam. 

Sam furrowed his brow, "isn't that what we've been trying to do? Get on with our lives?" 

Dean gave a small chuckle, "yeah, I thought so too. But come on, how long did you think that was gonna last, really? I'm a demon. You're a hunter. Let's cut the act." 

"Dean—" 

" _Stop_ calling me that," the demon cut him off angrily, briefly turning blue eyes on his brother, all lights in the small motel room flickering for emphasis. He must have noticed Sam's fear, because he quickly averted the threatening glare and switched his eyes back to normal. All of the pain and hate and disgust and anger boiling inside him was evident in his hardened features. Sam could now see the full effect that being locked away had had on him. He was beyond broken, and all the king's horses and all the king's men wouldn't be able to piece his sanity back together again. He continued, staring at the musty carpet through narrowed eyes. "I'm not _him_ anymore. I can't be. Because _he_ was better than this. _He_ would've been able to stay sane for his little brother. Dean's gone. We both accept that, and things will be a whole lot easier." He paused briefly to let that sink in. "I don't want you to go looking for me." He finally looked Sam in the eye, "If we ever meet again, it'll be as a hunter and a demon. Nothing else. I'm sorry." 

With that, he was gone, leaving Sam with a body and a puddle of his own blood to clean up.


	45. Chapter 45

Dean was gone. For good, it seemed. Sam tried hard to accept that fact. Dean had said so himself, that he was changed, different, gone. However, Sam couldn't bring himself to accept it. The whole situation just didn't quite add up: he came running when Sam was in danger, despite the impossible circumstances; somehow broke free of the safe room, but kept Bobby alive and unharmed; left indefinitely to keep Sam safe. He went to such extreme measures to protect those he claimed not to care about, and Sam couldn't help but think that there was still some remnant of his brother. Dean always had been so stubborn, it was hard to believe that he would let go entirely. 

So he kept looking. Both for some kind of cure and for the demon himself. He just hoped that he'd be able to ground him like before. Of course something would have to be done if more bodies dropped, but Sam definitely wouldn't be the one to gank his brother. 

It had been a few days since Dean left and the only lead he'd found involved working with Death himself. However, such a path had more than a few obstacles. Primarily that Death was locked away and to free him would a) probably spell disaster and b) require more than a little human sacrifice, which Sam was definitely not prepared to do. So that was off the table. 

At the end of his nerves, Sam resorted to prayer. He'd never met or even seen evidence of angels, but according to Chuck, they did exist. So he prayed with everything in his power, every day since Dean left, for one to maybe drop by, give some advice or even a helping hand. 

After four days, his efforts paid off. He was just about losing faith when an angel finally appeared. 

"Sam Winchester," a vaguely British voice came from across the room while Sam was studying police reports. "Sure have been hearing from you a lot lately." 

Sam turned from his work to find the man sitting on the motel room's kitchen counter. "Who are you?" 

"You called for an angel, didn't you? Name's Balthazar." He hopped down and crossed his arms, casually leaning back against the counter. "I'm here to answer your prayers," he said somewhat sarcastically. 

Sam raised an eyebrow, "you're an angel?" 

"Yes. Problem?" 

"No," he said, looking over the spindly man, "I was just kind of expecting something more, I don't know, impressive." 

"This is just a vessel," he tugged at his leather jacket, "if you saw my true form, your eyes would burn out of their sockets. Now do you want my help or not?" 

"So you _can_ do something?" 

"I can try." 

"How?" 

"Well first off, your brother was never supposed to be a demon." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean you two were a huge part of a grand plan. Dean was supposed to take a quick trip downstairs and get pulled back out by an angel called Castiel. Unfortunately, Cassie got himself killed and wasn't there to rescue him. So he got stuck in Hell and now here we are with an out of control demon and an astonishing lack of celestial order. There were some big plans for you two. Can't say I liked them, but big plans nonetheless. Now that that's been derailed, they don't know what to do upstairs. It's chaos. That's why you got me. They aren't concerned with your problems." 

"Why are you?" 

"Well I'm not exactly connected with heaven anymore. It's just a bunch of bigots and blind followers. Right about now, they're having a pissing match over who's in charge since God is MIA. That's why it took so long to get through. Anyway, your situation intrigues me." 

It was all interesting and he'd have to ask more about it later, but frankly, Sam only cared about one thing at the moment: "So you say you can help?" 

"I said I can try." 

"And...?" 

"A few things. First, I can't do anything if he's completely corrupted. I can only help if there's some bit of human soul left." Sam nodded, not entirely confident, but still hopeful. "Second," Balthazar continued, "you're going to have to find him on your own. There are some... limitations for me there. And lastly, know that this is a huge favor. Consider yourself entirely in my debt. So do we have an agreement?" 

Sam thought about it for a moment. Balthazar's conditions weren't unreasonable. He suspected, hoped, that there was still some humanity left in his brother, though he couldn't be sure. But hope and prayer had gotten him this far so why stop now. Finding Dean may prove more difficult, but he was already working on that and would continue to do so, deal or not. And, he figured, it couldn't be so bad being indebted to a angel. If it were a demon, he would take it into serious consideration before accepting, but with an angel, what was the worst that could happen? Anyway, at this point, he was willing to to just about anything. "Sounds good," he said finally, "thank you." 

"Don't thank me yet. Just call me when you find him." He disappeared and Sam went back to work with a new hope and refreshed ambition.


	46. Chapter 46

Ted was content. That was all that could really be said about his current state of living. It had been about two months since he'd been returned to his normal life unscathed. He did as Dean had suggested before disappearing; the first thing he did once his demon was gone was visit Gina, his ex. After endless apologies and promises, she finally agreed to move back in, if only to help him sober up. In the past months, he'd been pretty much clean. He hadn't been able to find a job yet, but the road ahead looked positive. 

He should have been happy that he'd been able to more or less put his life back together, but after all that had happened, he couldn't help but look at the world a bit differently. He now knew what was out there in the shadows and it scared him. He was constantly on edge knowing that there might be demons after him and found himself suspecting everyone. Still, he was comforted by the fact that he was protected. All of the items Dean had given him were, he considered, put to proper use. The hex bags were hidden around the house in places they wouldn't be disturbed, the symbol on the doormat was intact and would stay that way, the holy water and salt were stowed next to his bed, and he always kept the pendant in his pocket along with the crumpled paper with Dean's phone number scrawled on it. It was good knowing that he had someone to call in the case of an emergency no one else would understand. 

Truthfully, Ted almost missed his friendly demon. He didn't miss being possessed at all, but in that time he'd come to think of Dean almost as a friend. Looking past the fact that Dean was a demon simply using his body, he was, oddly, good company. It'd taken a while to get through the whole demon thing. Ted considered himself a good Christian man, and even after it became apparent that Dean didn't want to harm him, he couldn't help but think that he shouldn't be willingly consorting with a creature from Hell, a literal embodiment of pure sin. But Dean had said he was different from other demons, and after seeing other demons, Ted believed him. It was somewhat of an unexplainable relationship. 

Which is why he was the first person Ted thought to call when trouble came knocking. 

He was surprised when the police showed up at his door with a warrant for his arrest. He'd let them cuff him and take him in, promising a panicking Gina that he'd sort everything out. He'd sat quietly in the caged back of the police cruiser wondering what he'd done wrong. Now, he was in a small room, bare but for a chair, the table he was handcuffed to, and a mirror that he had a feeling doubled as a window from the other side. Someone he vaguely recognized as Officer Vega entered the room. 

"Well Ted Cassidy," she began, some surprise in her voice, "I thought I'd never see you in here sober. I mean, I knew you were a drunk, but I never thought you were a psychopath." 

Ted was taken aback, "what're you talkin about?" 

"Do you remember where you were on June twentieth?" 

Two months ago. That was when he was possessed. He pieced together that they must have caught him for something Dean had done while using his body. He wasn't sure what to tell her, so he simply shrugged and responded, "can't say that I do." 

She was starting to sound annoyed. "You sure about that? Because if you did happen to remember, you should probably tell us now." He just shrugged again. "Do you know why you're here, Ted?" 

"No clue," he said, trying to put a gesture with the sentiment, only to have his left arm caught by the handcuffs. 

"We got a call from Denver pd saying that you, our own town drunk, are the primary suspect in their investigation for four accounts of first degree arson resulting in the death of over a hundred people. They have video evidence confirming that you were there at the time of the fires. So I'll ask again, you got anything to tell us?" 

He had no idea what to do. He was innocent, technically, but he was there. There was no way to explain that it wasn't him. Then he remembered the crumpled paper he kept with him for just this kind of situation. "Phone call," he said hopefully, "I'm allowed a phone call, right?" 

Vega looked slightly confused. "Sure, but I don't see how that'll help your case right now." 

He nodded, "I'd like my call now." 

They hadn't wanted to let him leave the room to get to a phone, so Ted's cell was taken out of evidence and placed in the middle of the table, Dean's number dialed. Officer Vega had left the room to listen from behind the one-way mirror. 

Dean answered after only the first ring. _"Hello?"_ his voice came through the speakerphone. 

Ted was relieved, "hey, Dean?" He verified. 

_"Ted?"_

"Yeah, hey you know how you told me to call if anythin goes wrong? Well I'm kind of in a heap of trouble and I was hopin you could come help sort it out." 

He sounded suddenly grave, _"What kind of trouble?"_

"Police." 

_"On my way."_ Dean said simply before hanging up.


	47. Chapter 47

The demon had been staring at the old house and contemplating doing something horrible to number two on his three-person-long 'do not kill' list for his contribution to what happened to number one when he got the call from number three. He was slightly annoyed by the distraction, especially because it was a simple matter with police. But he'd sworn to himself to protect only three people and if one needed help, he would do whatever was necessary. The poor sap on the other end didn't even know what had become of Dean, he expected the help of the same relatively peaceful demon. 

He disappeared from the scrap yard with a mental promise to come back later, and reappeared inside some police station in Texas. He grinned at how well he'd pinpointed the location, appearing just behind the two police officers and one rather unimpressive FBI agent staring through the window at a scared and impatient Ted. Before doing anything else, he shot a grin at the security camera and sent a surge of power through it, rendering it useless. He stepped forward to stand right next to the fed as if he had any right to be there and mimicked the man's authoritative and pensive stance, arms folded and eyes narrowed. 

He nodded, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's innocent." Everyone jumped at his voice, only now noticing his presence. The fed's hand instinctively went to his gun and the female officer (Officer Vega, according to her name tag) spoke up after briefly looking him over. 

"Who are you and how did you get in here? This is a closed interrogation." 

"I'm Dean," he answered with a small grin, the statement feeling inherently false, "and it doesn't matter how I got in, I'm already in." 

"Wait, the Dean our perp just called?" the other officer asked, justifiably confused as it had been no more than a minute since Ted was granted his call. 

"One and only. Again," he nodded to the man oblivious to the happenings outside his little room, "Ted here's innocent. I think you should let him go." 

The demon could feel the fed's curiosity. "What makes you so sure about that?" 

"You're holding him for the fires in Denver bout two months back, right?" 

"Yeah." 

He grinned, "I know that he's innocent because I did it." He felt a strange fear, curiosity, recognition and perhaps even excitement from the fed. The young agent's reaction confused him, but he decided it wasn't important at the moment. 

"Don't think you can take the fall for your buddy," Vega said, feeling as though she should apprehend Dean and take him in for questioning, but for some reason afraid to make any move towards him, "we have video evidence. He was the only one at the crime scene at the time." 

"Doesn't mean it was him." He responded with a shrug. "He was possessed." 

The fed cocked an eyebrow, "possessed?" The demon was not oblivious to the fed's rising fear and again the strange hint of excitement. 

"By a demon. Specifically, me." He said, eyes fading to an unnatural blue. The lights started to flicker frantically and all eyes were widened with fear and confusion. "Now let's try this again," a twitch of his hand pushed all three back to the wall and rendered them motionless. His tone was calm but dangerous. "Drop all his charges, he's innocent." He turned his frightening blue eyes to the FBI agent, "you can go ahead and pin everything on me, just add to pile of things the bureau's after me for. Tell them it was Dean Winchester," the demon could clearly feel the fed's recognition of the name. "And, uh," he added with a small laugh, "wish whoever's on my case good luck for me, would ya?" It was odd how comfortable the fed was with facing a demon. There wasn't even a hint of doubt as to whether or not it was real. 

He then addressed both cops. They, unlike the fed, had the expected reaction: struggling to move, obviously scared, but not fully aware of the huge threat that this demon was. "Ted told you it was me and he's free to go, understood?" There was a subtle nodding of heads. "Great," he said, satisfied, "Oh, and if you want to keep your job and stay out of a mental hospital, you probably shouldn't say anything about this. If you don't cooperate, I _will_ be back, and I won't be as nice next time." 

He wanted very badly to just kill all three then and there and send Ted back home. However, he figured it wouldn't help Ted's case much if he disappeared and the rest of the precinct found the three officials dead. He released them and gave Ted one last glance before disappearing. 

....... 

Ted waited somewhat impatiently, wondering how long it could possibly take Dean to get there, seeing as he could appear anywhere within seconds. He didn't know exactly how the demon would be able to help him, but he was confident that he would find some way. Impossible things did seem to be his specialty. Technically, the demon was the guilty one anyway; it only made sense that he should be the one to sort it out. 

A couple minutes ticked past and still no one had come back to the little room to continue questioning him. Finally, some sign of help: the lights started flickering. Ted loosed a relieved huff, sure that he'd be out of there soon. As soon as the lights were restored, his cell, still on the table, vibrated once. He leaned forward to peek at it, not wanting to raise suspicion. It displayed a simple message: "Tell them the truth." He was a bit confused, pretty sure that the truth would sound exactly like a drunkard's babble, especially coming from him. However if Dean thought it would help, then he'd give it a try. 

There was a stretch of silence before Vega re-entered the room, trying hard not to look as terrified and confused as she was. Even so, she was still pale and couldn't quite stop her hands from shaking. She spoke a bit too loudly to try and cover the waver in her voice. "I want to hear the truth. What actually happened?" 

Ted thought about how exactly to explain. He leaned an elbow on the table and supported his head on his fist. He stared at the wall for a moment deciding what to say before looking up at the cop. 

"You religious?" 

Her brow furrowed slightly, "I suppose so." 

He nodded slightly. "Do you believe in demons?" 

Her eyes widened at the question. "If I say yes...?" 

"'S the same story either way, I just wanna get an idea of how crazy I'm gonna sound when I tell it." 

"What's the truth?" 

"I was there when the fires started, but it wasn't me. Well it was me, but I didn't do it. It was a demon. I was possessed." She looked surprised and scared. Ted wondered if Dean was still there when Officer Vega glanced back at the one-way mirror. He continued, slightly desperate, "look, I know how crazy it sounds. That was him, the guy I called. I don't know a whole lot bout what happened, but it wasn't me. I swear." 

She looked unsure, a small pause before she spoke again. "What was his name?" 

Ted was slightly surprised by the question, but saw no harm in telling the truth. They couldn't do anything to the demon anyway. "Dean," he answered. "Name was Dean Winchester." 

He watched intently as Vega glanced back at the mirror one last time, took a calming breath, and nodded slightly. She pulled out a small key and unlocked the cuff holding him to the table. "You're free to go." 

He rubbed his wrist where the cuff had been a bit too tight and stood. "Great." He wanted to ask what Dean had said to them, but decided not to push his freedom too far. He received wary looks from the other two as Vega escorted him out.


	48. Chapter 48

With new hope and motivation, Sam worked tirelessly at finding Dean. He kept an eye out for common aliases, any suspicious events, demonic omens. Anything that may lead to his brother. He even tried calling a few times, which (unsurprisingly) proved useless. It was just as well, he wasn't sure what to say even if he did answer. Beg him to come back? Make up some disaster? Perhaps he just wanted to reassure himself that Dean was still alive, still going. 

He stumbled upon a couple unrelated demons in his search and took the opportunity to try to get information. All reacted the same way: terrified and angry at the mention of Dean, and overall unwilling to give any help. 

After quite a bit of failure, Sam decided to try a different approach. He dug up and attempted no less than six different summoning rituals. No prevail. However unhelpful that crossroads demon had been, she was right. Dean couldn't be summoned for some reason. Maybe he was too powerful, maybe he was too human. Sam hoped for the latter. 

A week passed. Two. Three. He was starting to get desperate when the call came. He answered the phone to a number he didn't recognize. 

_"Heya Sam."_ The vaguely familiar voice on the other end started energetically. A voice he hadn't heard in a long time and was rather alright with not hearing again. Not as if he hated the guy, just that working with him was painstaking and kind of an altogether crapshoot. 

"Um, Garth?" 

_"Yessir. I need to talk to you about something."_

"About what?" 

Garth continued, uncertain, _"so your brother, Dean. He, uh, he died a few years ago, right?"_

This piqued Sam's interest. "Right..." 

_"And you decided to just bury him?"_

"Yeah..." 

_"Well, uh, you wouldn't happen to be aware that he's out and about, would you?"_

He was all too aware, yet he wondered how Garth was. Play dumb, Sam told himself. "What do you mean?" 

_"Well, I was looking into this case in Denver, couple fires, lots of bodies, not important. But they dug up some security footage and I got a look at it. Turns out it was some demon. Got a good look at its eyes and it was weird. Blue, not black."_

"Cut to the chase, Garth." 

_"Hold on, I'm getting there. We found the guy, local police took him in soon as I got there. Wasn't possessed anymore. He asked for a phone call, guy on the other end just said he's on his way, didn't ask where or what for. Then not even a minute later, guess who shows up? That same demon, same blue eyes, sporting your brother's meat suit."_

Definitely Dean. "What happened?" 

_"Not much, really. Couple threats, but didn't really do much. It was weird, kinda like he was helping the guy. Told the cops to let him go. I was 'FBI' so he told me to pin everything on Dean. Well, what he said was pin everything on him, Dean Winchester. Just thought you'd probably wanna know that there's some demon out there pretending to be him."_

"Well thanks. You can let me take care of it." 

_"No problemo. Hey I was just wondering, why did you bury him? Why not the good old fashioned hunter's funeral?"_

Sam didn't like the question and knew that Garth wouldn't like the answer. "Thanks for the info, Garth" was his only response. 

_"Alright. I'm just saying, there's a couple good reasons why we burn bodies."_ He sounded a bit suspicious, trying to hint to something without actually saying it. It was easy to forget that Garth was quite a bit sharper than he seemed. Sam worried that he had figured out that the demon really was Dean, but couldn't quite imagine what kind of reaction he'd have. 

He chose his words carefully so as not to arouse any suspicion from the hunter. "I'll take care of the demon problem," he repeated, "I just need you to tell me where it was and who else might have seen." 

It took a while to convince Garth not to go chasing Dean. He eventually got the location and two names and decided to head out as soon as possible. Excited with the new lead, as soon as possible turned out to be just about when he hung up the phone. 

....... 

Garth had just pulled up to his motel room after the odd incident with the demon when Sam hung up. There had to be something screwy going on there. Though much of it had stopped after Dean's death, there'd definitely been rumors concerning the Winchesters. They were as close to famous as it gets in the hunter community. For instance, he'd talked to a few hunters who swore Dean sold his soul to a demon. Assuming that was true, only one thing can come out of selling your soul: being dragged down to the pit by hellhounds. Putting the pieces together, it was completely plausible that the older Winchester had become a demon. Sam refusing to let Garth look further into the case reinforced the idea. 

So, naturally, he had every intention of getting to the bottom of it. After a good night's sleep, of course. He unlocked the door, shrugged off the jacket of the fed suit that made him look like he was going to a funeral, and fell onto the bed with a sigh. 

As soon as he closed his eyes, an unexpected voice broke the silence. "I should have known you were a hunter." Garth sprung up in surprise and saw a figure facing away from him, looking over his board of newspaper clippings and surveillance snapshots concerning the Denver fires. The demon briefly looked over his shoulder at Garth, who immediately recognized Dean's face. "I guess that makes me your prey, huh?" He turned back to the board with a laugh. 

"If you know I'm hunting you, why are you here?" The hunter asked, mostly to cover the noise of the bed springs as he carefully stood up, trying to reach the holy water in the nightstand without catching the demon's attention. 

"I'm here _because_ you're hunting me," he said with another laugh. "What, you think I'm just going to let you snoop around then try to kill me? I know how it works. I'm new to this side of the hunt though. Gotta say, it's kind of fun. But I have some questions for you." Garth had just gotten hold of the holy water when the demon suddenly turned, supernaturally pinning him to the wall, just like earlier at the station. "You recognized my name, why?" 

"Your name?" 

"Dean Winchester." 

"Your meatsuit's name," he corrected. 

The demon didn't bother arguing. "What does the name Dean Winchester mean to you?" He insisted. 

"Great hunter, great brother, loyal, clever. That's just what I've heard. He's definitely not some blue-eyed demon." 

"Now what makes you say that?" He said with a smirk. 

"It's not really – are you – you're not actually him, are you?" Garth stuttered. 

The demon grinned, "well, I used to be. Few hundred years in Hell can really do a number on you though." 

There was the verification. He had read somewhere that demons were made through torture in Hell, it looked like that was true, his suspicion was correct. Judging by their conversation, he wondered if Sam knew what had happened to his brother. Maybe it would be best if he didn't. He never knew Dean as a human, but he wouldn't wish this fate on anyone. "You can't really be so backwards you turn into what you used to kill." 

His eyes flicked over to dark blue and he gave a humorless laugh and a grimace. Apparently, being human was a touchy subject. "Hunters, you're all clueless. Doesn't matter that I used to be one of you, doesn't mean you get any extra mercy." He hammered home the point with a small shock of pain. It wasn't too bad, but Garth did involuntarily yelp out of pain and surprise. "Last question: you were just on the phone. Who were you talking to?" 

"No one, it wasn't anything important" he said quickly, not wanting to send this demon that used to be Dean after Sam. 

A small twist of Dean's hand sent a more intense wave of pain through the hunter. "That's a lie, try again." 

Garth gave himself a minute to catch his breath, then gave the answer the demon expected: "I was calling backup to help me deal with you." 

"Nope," the demon shook his head, disappointed, and twisted his hand ever so slightly more, causing the hunter to scream. "That's a lie too. You know, I can sense when you're lying, we could go at this all day. Now normally, I'd be more than happy to hang around and make you suffer, but truth is, I have some business to take care of downstairs. So why don't you tell me the truth before I have to burn it out of you?" 

Breathing was more difficult now and he could feel his heavy heartbeat clearly. "It was Sam," he said finally, sure that it would come out eventually but choosing the least painful way. "If you even remember Sam, your – Dean's brother. Just thought he might want to know that some demon showed up claiming to be Dean. Gotta show some respect for the dead by not letting a demon go around giving them a bad name." 

The demon sighed, "I really wish you hadn't done that. I probably could have let you go if I knew you weren't going to be working with Sam. Too bad." 

The statement was followed by agony so horrible that everything just failed: his vision went white, high pitched ringing made him deaf, copper and sulfur were all he could smell or taste, his muscles spasmed uncontrollably, his mind could only process pain. It was a relief when everything faded to black.


	49. Chapter 49

Sam ended up driving all night, but he didn't mind. He felt that he was so close to getting his brother back. This may be just the lead he'd been looking for. Better yet, according to Garth's story, it seemed like Dean was still somewhat himself, even if he denied it. He had come running when (he assumed) Ted called for help. Plus, he showed mercy where a run-of-the-mill demon would have killed anything in sight. The way Sam saw it, there was still hope. 

The small town Garth had directed him to had a single police station. Very small, no more than ten people total, only six desks. Sam arrived relatively early in the day, dressed to the nines. He flashed his badge at the receptionist, requesting officers Vega and Mathews. The woman mumbled something about the town 'seeing more action in the last month than the last fifteen years' and quickly obliged. 

He was directed to a conference room and met there by one officer. She immediately shook his hand, "morning, agent. Sherry Vega. What can I help you with?" She gestured for them to sit down at the small table. 

"I'm here to talk to you about that case from Denver." 

She looked slightly upset by the topic, uneasy. "Yeah, strange one, that." 

"Should we wait for your partner?" Sam asked, noting Mathews's absence. 

"He's, uh, he's not here. Cashed in some vacation time after that last case." 

"Right," Sam nodded, understandable that he'd want a break to wonder whether or not he's insane after meeting a demon for the first time. "So I understand that the Denver PD called for you to take in a suspect?" 

She nodded tensely, "yeah, Ted Cassidy. Infamous town drunk. Nobody'd seen him for a few days before. He couldn't account for where he was. They sent us some video evidence that was pretty solid." 

Sam nodded, he'd been right. It was Ted who'd called Dean. "So why'd you let him go?" She opened and closed her mouth a few times, as if trying to say something but unable to find the words. "Well I gotta be crazy," she said finally, under her breath. Then to him, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you." 

"Try me." 

She rest her arms on the table, stared at the wall, and wrung her hands, deciding how to say it without sounding like a nut case. She chuckled a little and shook her head, "you religious?" 

"Why?" 

She looked resigned to sounding insane, "you wouldn't happen to believe in demons, would you?" 

"Why?" He asked again, stoic. 

"Cause I met one. Our suspect called him, it, I don't know. Showed up, told us to let him go or else." She shrugged, "then it just disappeared. Thin air." She looked up at him, "honestly, I was scared. I was pretty sure he wasn't bluffing. The other fed that was there, he thought so too. I talked to Ted after it was gone, he gave us the exact same story. So yeah, we let the guy go to save our own behinds." 

Sam nodded. He'd already heard the story from Garth, he just wanted to see it first hand. 

"Do you think you can describe this, eh, demon?" he asked, putting a believable amount of doubt behind the statement. 

Vega's eyes widened, "you believe me?" 

"Say I do, could you describe him, or maybe you caught it on camera?" 

"I'm not sure, maybe. Haven't really looked." 

"Mind if we take a look now?" 

She led him to a small room with multiple monitors displaying everything from the front entrance to the holding cells. The station must have had a break in or something, the amount of cameras was little overkill for such a small establishment. But it was convenient for this situation. Vega dug up the footage from the exact date and time, a little over two weeks prior. She sped through a few uneventful minutes and stopped when the small screen displayed three people staring into an interrogation room. Officer Vega on the right next to who Sam assumed to be Mathews, and Garth on the far left. After a split second of static, there were suddenly four in the room. The new arrival stared at the oblivious three before shooting a grin directly at the camera. There were a couple more seconds of static before the picture clearly showed only three people in the room again, all looking scared and flustered. 

Vega stopped the playback, "I – I don't understand, how could it not catch any of that?" 

"Go back a little," Sam instructed. She did so. "There," he said when she reached the point where the extra person appeared. They let it play for a few seconds and paused it exactly when the demon looked up at the camera. The first time around had been so quick that no details could be made out. Now with the picture paused, the face was clear. Dean's face, complete with a wide and devious grin and dark eyes. 

The footage was greyscale, but looking closely, Sam could see that his eyes were not the inky black of a regular demon. Rather, they registered as a dark shade of grey. He could only assume that it really was Dean, but couldn't quite believe it. It seemed like he'd been searching for his brother for so long and now he'd found him so easily. Almost too easily, it slightly surprised him that Dean had let himself be caught on camera. Then again, he probably wasn't counting on Garth to go tattling. But he'd always been good at slipping under the radar, now he was doing the opposite. He was shooting the camera a frightening smile, as if sending anyone who sees the footage a howdy-do. 

"That's him. Said his name was Dean. Dean, um, Wes-win-was..." 

"Dean Winchester?" 

"Yeah, that's it. How'd you know?" 

"Bureau's been looking for him for a long time. I was just recently assigned to his case," he smoothly lied. 

"Oh. Uh, he said something about that." 

"What?" 

"Just to say good luck in finding him." 

....... 

Sam thanked Officer Vega for her help and left the station. He was now headed to Ted's house, the address of which he got on his way out. He knew that his plan was a long shot, but he felt so close to finally finding Dean that he didn't care. 

He wasn't even sure if Ted would cooperate. They had only met once and it was under pretty strange circumstances. However, he seemed to be the closest connection to Dean available. When Ted had called for help with the police, according to Garth, Dean was there in under a minute. Sam figured that, Ted being a innocent human and not an experienced hunter, Dean would be there to protect him if he called. It was also a reinforcement to the idea that Dean was still somewhat himself. Protecting those you care about wasn't exactly demon norm. 

Hope seemed to be rising by the minute.


	50. Chapter 50

Sam pulled up to a house small enough to pass for a trailer home and double checked the address before going up to knock on the screen door. He waited nervously, still not quite sure of how he'd convince Ted to help. The inner wooden door creaked open and the vaguely familiar face peered out. His features went from confused, to surprised, to concerned, to confused again. 

"Sam?" He said finally, "What're you doin' here?" 

"Hey, Ted. I, uh, I need your help." 

Ted glanced back into the house before stepping outside to talk. "Now what could you possibly need my help for? I don't know anythin' about all that monster stuff you deal with." 

"It's Dean. I can't find him." 

"And?" 

"Well he's kind of gone off the rails. If I don't find him... well, I need to. Fast." 

"How bad could it be? I mean, he ain't all that bad, right?" 

Sam shook his head, "when you were possessed, did you see Marik and Iris, those other demons?" 

"Yeah..." 

"Think that, but a lot worse." 

Ted was looking worried. While possessed, he'd quickly learned that most things those two dealt with were either life or death situations or apocalyptic scenarios. "Well how would I be able to help?" 

"You called him a little while ago for some help with the police, right?" 

"Yeah, came and helped just like he said he would." 

"That's it. Just call him back." 

"Why can't you?" 

"He's kind of trying to stay away from me. Long story. But it'd be a big help." 

He hesitated. "How do ya know he's gonna come?" 

"How do you know he isn't?" 

He thought for a moment, then pulled out his phone, "I'll call him but that's it. I don' wanna get involved. I got a life now, I just wanna forget about all this soon as I can." 

"Can't blame you. Tell him that some demons found you," he instructed, "and don't mention that I'm here." 

Ted nodded slightly and reluctantly dialed. 

....... 

The demon had been keeping busy. His first order of business after leaving Sam had been deciding just what to do with his six small bones. A former hunter, he knew better than to hide them anyplace with significance, so three were dropped into various large bodies of water. However, he also knew that Sam would assume he knew better and overlook obvious places. Therefore, one was buried six feet under in the same place he once was and another was somewhere among the endless clutter at Bobby's. The last one he'd gone so far as to take back to Hell with him to hide there. All in all, he couldn't have been more safe. 

After this was taken care of, his days consisted mostly of hunting down demons and his nights were spent drinking and enjoying himself. While his human side may have been sated with whiskey and women, his dominant demonic side preferred normally lethal amounts of the former and the lives of the latter. He let himself enjoy every second of his more demonic actions, any inklings of humanity, such as mercy or empathy or remorse, trumped by sheer sadistic joy. 

He had just finished off a nest of ten or so demons. Afterward, he'd treated himself to their power-laden blood, also funneling some into a flask for later. This had become a common practice ever since he'd realized not only how good it tasted, but also how much stronger it made him. Just like the power he'd stolen from Marik, the traces of power in the demons' blood was invigorating. Plus, it gave demons another reason to fear him, just reenforcing his authority. He was idly wiping his hands clean and looking over the three expertly bled-out bodies before him when his phone rang. 

He wasn't really sure why he answered it anymore, force of habit perhaps. He quickly finished cleaning off his right hand and dug the ringing phone out of his pocket. "Hello?" 

_"Hey Dean."_ The familiar voice responded, sounding hesitant, _"I might need some more help here."_

He sighed, impatient. "Again? What is it? I'm not a get out of jail free card, you know." 

Ted paused, seeming somewhat taken aback by his blunt and impatient tone, _"no, no police. They, uh, they found me. The demons."_

He took note of how unsure Ted sounded. "How many?" 

Ted thought for a bit too long and answered slowly, _"three."_

"So, what, they let you phone a friend?" 

_"They're outside, they can't get in."_

Had to give the guy credit for trying. Granted, lying to a demon wasn't the smartest thing to do, even over the phone he could sense the lie. "And you want my help?" 

_"I was hopin. 'Cause I don know what to do."_

The demon had had enough. He lowered his voice slightly, giving it an underlying dangerous quality, "then why are you lying to me?" 

_"What?"_

"You're lying, I can hear it. Usually, if you want someone's help, you tell them the truth." 

_"I-I don–"_ he stuttered out. 

"Because usually," he was sounding angrier, "people are a lot less likely to cooperate if you lie to them." He suddenly switched back to a calm and casual voice, "so what's the truth, huh? Someone there looking for me?" 

There was a long pause. He could hear Ted swallow hard and take a deep breath before answering, _"I guess you're just gonna have to come and find out."_


	51. Chapter 51

Annoyed would best describe the demon's feelings after Ted hung up on him. Annoyed and angry. It was obvious that the man had been lying about being in trouble, however he was curious as to what had prompted him to call. Some hunter probably. Or perhaps it actually was a demon looking for him, which wouldn't be too surprising. Wouldn't be the first demon with a death wish. 

He could easily piece together how a hunter may have found him through Ted. Going to the police station to help him was risky. He knew this but he had to help the guy, felt obligated to hold up his promise. He did disable the cameras, but he just _had_ to tease them a bit first. He kicked himself for putting his face on video before realizing that it didn't really matter. He still had these automatic reactions due to leftover hunter's instincts. However, being the powerful, dangerous, less-than-human thing he was now, he realized that he really didn't need to worry about a couple humans with tough talk and badges. A relief, at the very least. 

He decided to go, curious as to who or what wanted him; confident that he'd easily be able to overpower whatever he found. He wanted to know what had the nerve to track him down. He carelessly tossed away the (once white, now red) rag he'd used to wipe off his hands and stowed his flask of blood in his jacket, taking one last look at his hunt's resulting carnage before disappearing. 

....... 

"Is he coming?" Sam asked when the call was ended. 

"I think so. Sounded kinda mad though." 

"Yeah I bet he did. So he didn't fall for it?" 

"No, but it sounded like he was curious." Ted was unsure of what to say, staring at his shoes and idly kicking up some dirt. "So, uh, we done here?" 

"I'm pretty sure he's coming, so when he gets here, we're out of your hair for good. But he's going to lock on to you, so we have to stay here until he shows." 

"We?" 

"Yeah, I've got a... friend coming to help out. Just have to make a call." 

Ted watched with some confusion as Sam made his 'call'. Sam clasped his hands and closed his eyes, hesitantly speaking into the air. "Balthazar, I, uh, I hope you can hear this. I've got him, so... Come on down." He opened his eyes and looked around hopefully. 

"Some call," Ted commented sarcastically, "who'd you say this friend of yours was?" 

"Well, not really a friend," he started to explain, but stopped when he heard the rustle of wings to the left of him. 

Both turned to the man who'd just appeared, straightening his jacket. "Hello." Taking notice of Ted's confusion, he introduced himself, speaking in somewhat of a rush, "Balthazar. Angel. You're not our demon. Who are you? No don't answer that, I don't care." He turned to address Sam, "where is he?" 

"He's coming." 

"Coming? I thought you said you had him. I flew here from Barcelona, I left in the middle of a dinner party." 

Sam nodded up to the quickly darkening sky, "see that? He's coming. You said to call when I found him. I found him, so I called." Meanwhile, Ted was backing up to sit on the the doorstep, looking overwhelmed. 

"What's wrong with him?" Balthazar asked. 

Ted shook his head, "I've had more than enough crazy today, so I'm just gonna pretend this is all normal. When'll he be here?" 

"Any second," Sam assured, "then we're gone for good. And thanks again for your help." 

As if on cue, the demon appeared behind them. No one noticed until his voice sounded, dangerous with thinly covered anger, "heya, Ted," he addressed the only person he could see head-on, "this your trouble?" 

The angel reacted first. He transported the three of them away instantly, leaving Ted wondering if the whole thing was just some hallucination. 

....... 

They ended up in a small, industrial-looking room, Dean at the crosshairs of a complex, pre-set trap. He was standing in the middle of an intricate Enochian sigil, devil's traps on the ceiling above him and on all four walls around him. Off to the side, there was a table covered by a blood-red cloth displaying the same symbol as the one at Dean's feet. On the table, there was an assortment of vials and small bowls and bags of ingredients for the spell sitting around a large stone bowl. The demon looked over all the setup with some amusement, not at all worried about his position, "a little overkill, don't you think? And are we on a boat?" 

Balthazar nodded, looking impressed with himself, "iron hull, surrounded by salt water. You're not going anywhere." 

"Well, looks like we're talking then." He turned to the hunter, "I should've known it was you, Sammy," he began with a lopsided grin. "It was that stupid hunter kid that tipped you off wasn't it? Glad I took care of him." 

"You killed Garth?" Sam asked with some shock and something that could be either guilt or fear, it was hard for Dean to determine through the traps. 

Dean just shrugged with a grin at the memory, "well I couldn't just have him go blabbing, could I? If word got out a boss demon's loose, I'd have every hunter in the continental US on my ass. Speaking of, didn't I tell you not to come looking for me? Then again, I guess we both knew that wasn't going to happen. And who's your friend?" He closed his eyes and sniffed the air, swiveling his head to look back at Balthazar, "he's definitely not human. Not a demon either. But powerful, I can tell." He opened his eyes to stare at Balthazar, "so what are you?" 

"An angel." Balthazar answered simply. 

The demon barked out a humorless laugh, "an angel, well would you look at that! Come to smite me, Cupid? My baby brother recruit you because he's too weak to do it himself?" 

Sam spoke up, "Balthazar says he can help. I told you I was looking for a cure and I found one." 

"Now what, exactly, do you mean by 'cure'? You mean make me human again? Trick the system just so you can have your brother back? Sorry, I'm gonna have to say no. I'd rather stay immortal, powerful, and damn happy." He finished with a smile. 

Sam shook his head, not accepting what he was hearing. "No. You said you wanted a cure, you told me you didn't want to be a monster." 

His eyes flicked to blue, bright and excited, "That was before I found out how fun it is. Being able to hold someone's life in your hand, let them scream and squirm as much as they want 'cause when that one gets boring," he snapped his fingers, "dead. On to the next. Having so much authority that every demon runs and hides at my mention and every human ought to." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, looking blissful, "that kind of power, it's addictive. Let loose once then suddenly you can't get enough." He opened his eyes to look at his brother, "now why would I give that up just so that I can be miserable for a few more years before I die and go to Hell and start the whole thing over again?" 

Sam chose to focus on just the last statement. The rest was making reality far too real far too fast. "You wouldn't go to Hell. The only reason you ended up there in the first place is because you sold your soul. You don't belong there." 

He chuckled, "now that's just a load of crap. You wanna know what my job down there was?" 

"It doesn't matter what happened in hell," Sam cut him off, "minus all the demon crap, you don't belong there." 

"That's not my point, let me finish. My job downstairs, at least for a while, was to torture the newcomers. Slice 'em up nice and pretty, give 'em a good 'welcome to hell'. Day in day out, for six hundred years. Now let's take a second and imagine just how many 'I don't belong here' sob stories I've heard. And you know what I learned? _All of them_ deserved to be there, and the majority were about five times as holy as either of us will ever be. So buck up and stop trying to fool yourself. We were both headed for the pit, I just happened to get there first. Now there's no going back."


	52. Chapter 52

Balthazar watched the two quietly. He was unsure if his cure would work, especially now that he could judge the true and powerful demon for himself. He wasn't very well acquainted with Hell's hierarchy, but something with this much power had to hold some high position. Whatever the case, he would still try. He was never really one for helping humans, but this was a special case. 

He knew that this whole scenario was his doing. It was Balthazar who'd let Castiel die in battle. If not for that, Dean Winchester's uncorrupted soul would have been pulled out of Hell a long time ago, only to be killed (along with the rest of humanity) in the battle of the millennium between Michael and Lucifer. 

Balthazar did not entirely agree with the plan. He figured that if their Father treasured the humans so much, why would He plan for them to be destroyed in a petty battle between brothers? He feared that it was not truly God's will. After all, no one had actually communicated with Him in millennia. Well, Balthazar had the opportunity to change the game plan and took it. He'd made the trade of one angel's life for the lives of every human, current and future. Of course, the other angels wouldn't see it that way. Rather, they would see it as a treasonous act against heaven. So he faked his own death during that same battle and escaped to Earth. 

All had been going well until he decided to tune in to angel radio and by chance heard none other than Sam Winchester, praying for his brother to become human again. He was honestly intrigued by the situation. Every angel knew about the Winchester brothers and their destined role in the prize fight. Something had to be seriously wrong if Dean, _the_ prophesied 'righteous man', was so corrupted that he wasn't even human anymore. The angel had watched over each of the brothers in secret for a few days and realized just how strong and dangerous a demon had been created due to his trade-off. This was just cleaning up his mess. If it was impossible to bring the demon to redemption, then he would smite him. End of story. 

"Might I interject?" He asked of the still arguing brothers. 

They responded at the same time: 

"What?" From Sam. 

"No." From Dean. 

He addressed the demon, "you shut up, you have no say in this." He then turned to the hunter, "if you two can be done bickering, I'd like to have a look at his soul." 

"His soul?" Sam repeated, confused. 

"I did say I _might_ be able to help," Balthazar continued. "That is, if there's some piece of human soul still alive." 

The demon laughed, "You're a little late for that, angel. I don't know what you're gonna find in there, but I'm pretty sure none of it's gonna be human." He seemed disgusted by the notion. 

"I said hush," the angel scolded him before raising an eyebrow at Sam, awaiting approval. 

"Whatever you gotta do, go ahead." Balthazar dragged a chair over from the corner of the room. "You might want to sit down," he told the demon, "this is probably going to hurt. A lot." 

Dean took the chair and leaned back in it casually. "Hit me with your best shot, doc." 

"Believe me," Balthazar said, shedding his leather jacket and rolling up his sleeves, "dirtying my hands with a soul like yours is about the last thing I wanted to do today." He stepped forward and pushed his fingertips into the demon's middle. Dean grimaced as the angel's hand disappeared into a hole made in his abdomen. Tendrils of dark blue smoke escaped and swirled up and around his forearm. After a moment of focus, Balthazar slowly removed his hand and the smoke disappeared, leaving no sign of the event. 

Dean stretched a bit in the chair and chuckled, eyes back to blue, demented smile still in place, "aw come on, I thought you said it was going to hurt. You can do better than that, angel." His eyes flicked back to normal. "So what's the diagnosis, huh? Am I secretly a human?" He laughed a bit at that. 

Balthazar paid him no attention, turning his back on him to talk to Sam. "Good news and bad news. And good news." 

"What's the good news?" 

"There is a spark in there. Barely anything and dying out, but it's there. Bad news is that it's not really enough to work with alone. But, good news, I might still be able to do it, I just need a few more things." 

Sam was relieved, "what things?" 

"First of all, is that his body?" 

"Yeah." 

"All of it?" 

Sam furrowed his brow, "what do you mean?" 

"I mean we need every single bone, and it wouldn't be unlike a demon to hide a few." There was a low chuckle from behind him. The angel turned to see Dean's smug smirk and glistening blue eyes. "What's so funny?" 

"Do I know how to think ahead, or what?" He replied with amusement, "tell ya the truth, I'm missing a couple pieces." 

"You hid your bones?" Sam asked, somewhat surprised. 

He shrugged, eyes fading back to green, "I know hunters. It's all about the remains. I know what you're thinking, you'll never find them all." 

"How many are there?" 

"Five," he said proudly. "I'll give you a hint, one's in the pit." Another low chuckle, "so what's the plan now, huh?" 

Balthazar stepped forward, "there's plenty of other ways. That one was just the least unpleasant. Other options include, but are not limited to, dunking you in holy water or burning you alive in hell fire." 

"Hell fire, been there, done that. Quit trying to sound threatening, you're just not good at it. I don't suppose letting me out of here is an option? I just wanna have some fun, is that so bad?" He tilted his head to the side with an innocent smile. 

"It is when 'fun' is torturing and killing innocent people." Sam retorted. 

"Buzzkill," he murmured. 

Balthazar pulled Sam aside and spoke quietly, likely unaware that the demon could hear them regardless. "I'm going to go put together plan B, can you keep an eye on him?" 

Sam warily glanced at his brother, who was watching them intently, and nodded, "yeah, I'll be fine." 

"Then I'll be back." He disappeared with a rustle of invisible wings, leaving the brothers alone.


	53. Chapter 53

"Plan B, great," Dean commented when the angel disappeared, somewhat annoyed. "He's doing this on purpose." 

"Doing what?" 

"Leave us alone. Force us to talk out our issues. You really think I need to be watched? We're in the middle of the frickin' ocean, I can barely move with all the damn salt everywhere." 

"Well you kind of have a reputation for escaping." Sam said, going to sit in another chair backed up against the wall. 

"Heh, I guess." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Hey, lemme ask you something." 

"Hm?" 

"Why're you so... persistent? Why are you still trying at this? I don't wanna go back anymore, so why do you want it so bad?" 

Sam thought for a minute, head down. "Because you would've wanted it. If you were thinking straight, you would see what you're doing and want out." 

The demon laughed at that. "You mean _Dean_ would have wanted it, right? Your brother, the human, he wouldn't want to be this. You just don't get it, do you? How many times do I have to tell you: I'm not him anymore. I know exactly what I'm doing, I just exercise a little more freedom than most. I know what I told you, and it sure as hell wasn't to 'fix' me. I told you to kill me. If I were you, I would've taken that opportunity. Too late now." 

"No. You're messed up and I can see that, but it doesn't mean you can't go back, Dean." 

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that." He said angrily, blue eyes glaring at Sam. "And I _told_ you, I don't want to go back." He relaxed back into the chair and let his eyes fade beck to normal, "I'm having too much fun. And it only took nine hundred years in the pit for me to learn how to. I gotta say, this is a hell of a lot better than my life before, Dean's life." 

"How's that?" 

The demon shook his head with a small pitiful smile. "Wow, you must really be blind. I _never_ had a life of my own. After mom died, it was never about me. But I guess you wouldn't see that, you left. You got to have a life, go to college, have a girlfriend. But for me, it was always tag along on dad's crusade and take care of my baby brother. Now is it really that surprising that the mindless soldier turned into this? I get to do what I want now. I'm not worrying about anybody else. And you know what, it feels good." 

Sam tried to speak calmly to try and keep Dean somewhat grounded. "You spent your life saving people. You always liked hunting." 

"Liked it?" he repeated, sounding disgusted. "I never had a choice," he spat back. "If you could choose, honestly, would you pick hunting?" 

"I know what's out there and I know that I can save people from–" 

Dean cut him off with a sly smile, "from things like me? Reality check, Sammy, you can't save them all." 

"Is that how you justify killing people?" 

"I don't have to justify it. I'm a demon, I don't feel guilt. I just do it 'cause it's fun," he said with a grin, eyes momentarily flashing blue. "How'd you know what I've been up to, anyway?" 

"Well you know I've been looking for you," he responded nonchalantly, "and you haven't exactly been discreet. Yeah, jumping from town to town and changing meat suits was effective, but same MO everywhere. Guy with freaky blue eyes leaves a bar with some girl later to be found cut up in some motel room. It's a pretty sloppy path. Maybe if you didn't want to be found, you shouldn't've flaunted the demon eyes so much. Ask any hunter about a blue-eyed demon and they most likely have a story. You've made yourself pretty famous." 

His permanent smug grin grew wide, "well look at you. That's some pretty good hunting there, Sammy." He shrugged, "but I wasn't trying to hide, I got nothin' to hide from." 

"You might wanna take a look at where you are one more time." There was a moment of silence as the demon lazily and resentfully looked over the Enochian symbol at his feet. Sam spoke up again, somber, "you might not want help, but you know what? I don't care what you want. Because it's not you I'm fighting for, it's Dean. And you were right, you're about the farthest thing from him." 

Honestly, Sam had been getting more doubtful of his plan the more he found out about Dean. He'd been trying to forgive his actions, play them off by reminding himself that he was, in fact, dealing with a demon. Some casualties had to be expected. However, hearing his attitude towards the senseless murders was more than disturbing. Also, the body count had reached double digits last week, and Sam surely didn't even find all of them. He was doubting that Dean could be salvaged from this... monster. Even _if_ Balthazar could make him human again, maybe his sanity was too far gone. And _if_ he was somehow made human, then what would Dean think of everything that this demonic persona had done? Not to mention the fact that Sam had let it happen. Sure, there was nothing he could do once Dean left, but he should have seen the signs and known that nothing good could come of it. He knew that his cause was selfish, but he had wanted his brother back since the day the hellhounds came for him. And now this... thing that he thought was his brother, then had acted as his brother, then was almost his brother, and now was once his brother was being dangled in front of him. Sam had sat back and watched as his sanity fell apart and did nothing, and now he feared that he'd never get Dean back. 

The demon cocked an eyebrow. "And there it is. Finally. I said this would happen, didn't I? Here we are, just a hunter and a demon. It's kinda liberating, isn't it? Just let go of that crazy idea that a _human_ could survive that long in Hell. Two hundred years, maybe. Three would be a stretch. But nine? You can't even imagine my Hell. Nine hundred years of nothing but torture, receiving it and doling it out, constantly listening to the screams, slicing and dicing my way up to the top so that I can finally get out of that hole, if only for a little fresh air. You know, Hell ain't easy, even for demons. After being tortured constantly down there for that long, it's only natural to want to inflict some pain of your own. Doesn't matter on who, just passing on the suffering; it's enjoyable at the very least." 

After another stretch of silence, Dean produced a flask from his jacket. Sam watched as he unscrewed the top and took a sip, closing his eyes and savoring whatever was inside. 

"What's that, whiskey? Still got that drinking problem?" 

He smiled, "lots of drinking, I don't see it as a problem though. But no, this is a lot better than whiskey." He seemed to realize something, "but you would know that, wouldn't you, Sammy?" 

"What is it?" He asked again, now genuinely curious. 

"Demon blood. Want some?" He shook the flask in Sam's direction and laughed to himself, "my brother the blood junkie, I almost forgot about all that. But now that I've tried it myself, I really can't blame you. It is good." He took another sip. 

"Demon blood?" Sam said incredulously, "you're drinking demon blood?" 

He shrugged. "I figure they all hate me enough as is, why not give them some more reasons to? It's funny, actually, when I find a nest of them. They're all terrified." He chuckled and took another small sip. "Mm, but I can see how you'd get addicted. It's chock full of power. Makes you stronger, sharper, faster. How'd you quit it?" 

"I killed my source," he said simply. 

The demon could feel him becoming more uneasy by the second. It was obvious that Sam was nervous to be left alone with him. Understandable, he supposed. After all the demon had said, it was pretty impressive that the hunter maintained a relatively calm facade. 

"What's taking Balthazar so long?" Sam wondered aloud. 

"Oh, he's been here for the past maybe five minutes." He suddenly raised his voice, "isn't that right, angel? I know you're there, you stink of righteousness. Come on out." 

The angel appeared against the wall opposing Sam, behind the demon. "Very perceptive. You two really have some problems to work out, don't you? Especially you," he nodded at the demon. "Now, let's get on to plan B, shall we?"


	54. Chapter 54

"Dare I ask what plan B is?" Dean asked. He downed at least half of the near-full flask in a single gulp and shivered at the sudden rush. Not too long ago, he had found that the power stolen from other demons' blood could be absorbed and used while inside traps that kept his own away. Dean had planned this out so that he would have enough backup power for a situation not unlike the one he was currently caught in. He hated how difficult it was to move around. Under normal circumstances, the salt water surrounding them wouldn't bother him at all, however, the ridiculous amount of traps and sigils left him more vulnerable. Even so, he was already feeling stronger, he just had to wait for his opening. 

Sam stood when the angel appeared, "What took so long?" he asked, ignoring the demon's question. Dean could tell that he was relieved at Balthazar's presence, glad to no longer be alone with what used to be his brother. 

"Impatient, aren't we? I had to gather together plan B. I told you, I need every single bone." He picked up a bag from the table and proudly displayed its contents, four of Dean's reported five hidden bones. 

The demon leaned forward at the sight, surprised and annoyed. "How the hell did you get those?" he asked angrily, though relieved that two were still hidden. He was glad to have lied about the number; if all else failed, that extra lifeline might be just enough to get him through this. 

"I have my ways. Weren't hidden as well as you thought. It's not important." 

"But I thought there were five," Sam pointed out, confused. 

"The one in Hell is as good as destroyed, it doesn't count. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get started." 

"By all means," Sam said, sitting back down, "anything I can do?" 

Balthazar shook his head as he began to mix the various ingredients in the bowl, "just don't let him... do anything," he said, vaguely gesturing toward the demon. 

Dean laughed a bit, "now what do you think I'm gonna do?" He asked with a small smile, taking another drink. 

"Honestly, I don't want to know," he said without looking up, "just don't." 

"I've already told Sam here, I'm not too happy about this. And lately, if I don't want something to happen, it doesn't happen." 

"You might have authority in Hell, but you need to learn your place," Balthazar snapped, "you are in no position to be telling me what to do." 

Dean raised his hands in mock surrender, "hey, I know I can't boss you around, angel." He finished off the last of his blood and grinned as he stashed it away, "even I know that's a bit above my pay grade. I'm just saying, don't get too cocky. You haven't won yet." 

The angel paid him no attention, completely focused on his work. Once everything in the bowl had been thoroughly ground and mixed, he grabbed a brush from the table and brought the bowl over to the demon. Dean fought against being touched, however his normal supernatural strength was limited, whereas the angel's was completely intact. Therefore, Balthazar quickly won out and secured his arm as the demon spat a few Latin profanities. He painted the mixture onto the exposed skin of Dean's forearm, creating a sigil reminiscent of the one on the floor. Nothing happened until the angel returned to the table and began reciting an Enochian spell. 

His arm began to sizzle and sting wherever the stuff touched him, first swelling up then burning back down like acid, engraving the sigil into his skin. It hurt like hell, seared its way up his arm and slowly spread to his whole body. The demon's breathing was heavy and his eyes were back to blue, wide and manic, glaring at Balthazar. " _Vae,_ occisionis propter hoc debeo tibi, angelus," he angrily slurred through the pain, defaulting to Latin. 

The angel paid him no attention, continuing the spell. He annunciated the Enochian quickly and clearly and Dean was starting to feel the effects. The radiating pain intensified and a sweat broke on his brow. The angel's power kicked in with a blinding white light, projecting his wings on the wall behind him. Finally, his chance. 

The demon forced himself to focus and gathered together all of his stolen power. He directed all of it into a shrill, inhuman shriek, head whipping back with the force of it. Thunder could be heard booming outside and the boat was haphazardly tossed around with the suddenly violent waves. The incantation halted as the angel and the hunter exchanged a frightened and surprised glance. The noise cut off and Dean heavily slumped forward in the chair, breathing labored and head limply hanging, exhausted from the exertion and relieved to be (at least temporarily) freed from the spell. 

"Well that can't be good." Balthazar commented. 

"What did you do?" Sam asked the demon, stalking towards his chair in the center of the room. 

His heavy breathing slowly progressed to low, maniacal laughter. "I warned you," he sing-songed. He lifted his head slightly to peek up at his brother through energetically spiked hair with bright demonic eyes and a large and deranged smile, "I told you, nothing happens I don't want to happen." 

"You're still trapped though," Sam said, double checking the sigils, all six of which were still perfectly intact. "What did you do?" He repeated. 

He slowly shook his head without looking away from the hunter, eyes fading back to green, "who said I was going to do anything? I've got friends in low places, Sammy. Being scarier than hell has it's advantages." The lights flickered with another crash of thunder. He lifted his head further, peering around with a grin, "here they come."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vae, occisionis propter hoc debeo tibi, angelus - damn, I ought to slaughter you for this, angel


	55. Chapter 55

"They?" Sam asked in somewhat of a panic, "who's they? Demons?" 

Dean was still in pretty bad shape, but that only served to make his twisted glee more threatening. "My followers. I have followers, isn't that neat? They think that being on my side makes them safe." His body slightly shook with silent laughter. "Any second now..." 

"Got a plan for this?" Sam asked Balthazar. 

The angel was just as unprepared as Sam was, "Eh, not exactly. Fight, I guess. I told you not to let him do anything." 

"I don't even know how he did anything. What was I supposed to do? I didn't even think that was possible." 

Dean laughed, "Well I'm just full of surprises, aren't I?" 

Before he could be acknowledged, the lights in the windowless room all went out. There was another boom of thunder and the lights flickered back on in place of lightning to reveal three new demons, two men and a woman. 

"About time." Dean greeted them, straightening slightly. "What took so long, Hadrian?" 

"Hell of a place to find," the man in the center replied. "You've really got yourself in some shit this time." 

"Semper in stercore," he casually said with a grin, "sole profundum qui variat." 

While the demons were talking, Sam had carefully taken out his knife, trying not to attract attention. He was starting to advance on the one woman when Dean issued a quick command: "diligentiam eos, sed non eos interficiat." In response, the demon quickly turned and slammed Sam into a wall with a wave of her hand. Balthazar appeared behind her and pressed his palm to her head, emitting a white light and causing her to drop Sam from the wall. The other two quickly worked in tandem; one re-secured Sam to the wall before he could react while the other, whom Dean had referred to as Hadrian, pulled the angel off his companion, effectively securing his hands behind his back. 

"Woah there, angel. That's no way to treat your guests," the demon growled. 

Meanwhile, Dean stood from his chair and stretched, waiting for the two to be secured. He wasn't overly fond of this option, not wanting to appear weak by calling for help. However, it was his only option and the situation was somewhat desperate, seeing as the spell likely would have been successful had he waited about ten more seconds. "Allow me to introduce my elites: Hadrian, Elise, and Arian. Best of the worst." 

"Pleasure," Balthazar said sarcastically, futilely struggling against Hadrian's iron grip. 

"So someone wanna let me outta here?" Dean asked, gesturing to the multitude of traps. Elise glanced to the other two, preoccupied with keeping the angel and the hunter still. She made short work of the traps, psychically erasing pieces of the sigils. All of his power came back to him in a rush and he was finally free to move, the surrounding salt water losing its potency. "Much better," he said with a sigh. He stepped out of the broken circle, psychically knocking over the table and spilling all of the spell's necessities onto the ground. By now, the effects had almost entirely worn off. All except for the sigil engraved in his arm. It still stung and, no matter how he tried, he couldn't heal it. 

"What do you want to do with them," Arian asked as Dean slowly advanced. 

"The angel's all yours, do whatever you want with him. The human though," He turned his blue eyes on his struggling brother, face humorless for the first time, "you can leave him with me." 

The three demons grinned at their prize, "whatever you say," Hadrian said. 

"Come on, angel," Elise added, "we're going to have so much fun." With that, all four disappeared, again leaving the brothers alone. 

"So what now?" Sam asked, his voice a mixture of anger and pain and disgust, "you going to kill me? Did you want to finish me off yourself?" 

"Haven't decided yet. Maybe." He started to pace back and forth in front of Sam. "If I kill you, all my problems are pretty much solved. I mean, obviously you're the only one trying to 'fix' me, other hunters I can just kill off easy. Once you're gone, I can just get back to business. So it should be an easy decision, right? But then I think, just killing you, maybe that's not harsh enough. See, that whole deal with trying to make me human even after I told you I didn't want it, I think something like that oughta be punished. Torture: eh maybe, but it's kind of been done before, not special enough. But then, I can see how much this tears you up, knowing that your big brother's gone dark side. I let you go, and you'll be your own torture. 'Cause I know you, Sammy. You're probably blaming yourself for all this, you think that I'm your responsibility, whether that means 'curing' me or killing me. And you know what that'll lead to? You'll spend the rest of your life hunting a demon that you'll never find. Following in dear old dad's footsteps just like you never wanted to. Of course, you could just let me go, but we both know that that won't happen. That conscience of yours sure does get in the way, doesn't it? So I could let you go, but if I do, know that I don't care what we once were, you find me again, I'm not holding back. So, door one: you die. Or door two: you walk free. Which'll it be?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> semper in stercore, sole profundum qui variat - always in shit, just the depth that varies
> 
> Diligentiam eos, sed non eos interficiat- take care of them, but don't kill them


	56. Chapter 56

Sam was done. He was done with the whole thing. Dean was gone for good. He had to be, because however loose his sanity may become, _Dean_ would never be able to hurt his brother. Family had always been everything to him, and now he was talking about torturing or killing his own brother without so much as batting an eye. "Go ahead," Sam finally managed through clenched teeth. "Kill me." He could hardly contain his anger at this _thing_ that had replaced his brother. "Just get it over with." 

The demon cocked an eyebrow, seeming slightly amused, though that permanent smug grin was gone, "seriously? Two options, you pick that one? You positive? 'Cause door two's wide open." 

His hesitation sparked some tiny, impossible hope in Sam. "I thought you had no problem with killing me. What's the matter? Got cold feet? Is Dean still in there somewhere, is that why you can't do it?" 

He got unnecessarily angry at this, loosing a small, angry snarl, eyes turning dark blue as he slammed Sam back against the wall. His words were all growled out, pure rage in each syllable, "don't you assume anything. How many times have I told you, Dean's dead, and he's not coming back. He's _never_ coming back." 

"Prove it, then," Sam spat back, just as angrily, "kill me. Shouldn't be any problem for you, it's just another human life." 

The demon took this as a challenge. He stepped forward to close a hand over Sam's throat, dropping the supernatural hold so that the hunter was hanging solely from his neck. He usually preferred a quicker death if he was to just get rid of someone who got in his way. However, he felt that killing his brother called for something a bit more personal than just a burst of power to stop his heart, something slower so that he could watch the life leave his eyes and feel his heartbeat stutter to a stop. He gritted his teeth as he watched Sam struggle. To be fair, he did put up a good fight. It probably would have been effective if he wasn't up against a demon, but Dean's supernatural strength didn't give way. "Sorry it had to end like this, Sammy," he muttered, "I'll be sure to pay you a visit downstairs." The sentiment was genuine, if Sam went down the same path as him, became a demon, that is, then Dean would definitely take him under his wing. The Winchester brothers working together again, even if it was as demons. This thought egged him on as he further tightened his grip. 

Sam was starting to black out when the familiar rustling of feathered wings sounded. The demon was pulled back by the forehead and quickly knocked unconscious with a single touch. 

"Ugh, why didn't I just do that in the first place?" 

Sam collapsed once the demon's grip was gone, coughing and desperately trying to catch his breath. He blinked through the black splotches clouding his vision to see Dean's limp form lying on the ground in front of him. "Is he – is he dead?" he asked warily before peering up at Balthazar. There were knife holes and bloodstains covering his clothing, but he must have already repaired his vessel as there were no obvious wounds. 

"Just unconscious." 

"What happened to you?" 

"This one," he nudged Dean with his foot, "handed me off to his 'elites'. I just singlehandedly fought off three pretty strong demons. Good thing for you too, looks like you were in quite a bit of trouble here." 

"Why are you back?" Sam asked, standing up and leaning heavily against the wall, gingerly rubbing at the bruises forming on his neck and waiting for the room to stop spinning. 

"I like to finish what I start. I came back to finish that spell once and for all." 

"Will it even work? I mean, don't you need something human to work with?" 

Balthazar went about righting his makeshift altar, "I believe that there's still something in there." 

"How do you know?" 

"You're still alive. If there weren't, he probably would have killed you quickly. He must have hesitated, at least a bit. That's enough for me." He finished fixing the altar then quickly repaired the Enochian sigil in the center of the room and the trap directly above it. Dean was placed in the chair inside the circle and tied to it with ropes that Balthazar produced out of thin air. 

Sam stayed off to the side of the room to let him work. The angel positioned himself behind the altar just as he was before being interrupted and resumed where he left off. Sparks showered down from the light fixtures and that bright white light illuminated the room, forming the shadow of two immense wings behind him. 

The demon woke up, first groggily, then snapped fully awake when he realized what was going on. He frantically tried to tug his hands free of the ropes. "No..." he murmured, looking down at the circle at his feet and up to the trap overhead. "No!" 

Both Enochian sigils, the one engraved into his arm and the one drawn on the ground, began to glow. Harsh beams of white light shot out of each line. The demon screamed, though it wasn't the terrifying and unearthly noise from before. Rather, he cried out in pain and anger, head thrashing back and forth as he desperately tried to break free. He stopped when his midnight blue eyes met his brother's. "Quom me occidisti," he said weakly through heaving breaths, "quom me occidisti, frater." 

The light became blinding and thick black smoke rushed out of his mouth with a bloodcurdling scream. When it finally faded, Dean slumped into the chair, appearing lifeless. 

"That's it." Balthazar said. 

"Did it work?" 

"That, or he's dead." 

Sam cautiously stepped forward to check for a pulse, relieved when he felt it. "He's alive." 

"Then it worked. Your brother's human again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quom me occidisti, frater - you've killed me, brother


	57. Chapter 57

Balthazar brought them back to the impala (which he'd moved to an empty parking lot at some point). Dean was laid down in the back seat, still unconscious, and the other two talked outside. 

Sam forced himself to look away from his brother to talk to the angel, "I really can't thank you enough." Balthazar only nodded. "Is he going to be alright?" 

"Maybe," he responded, furrowing his brow. 

"Maybe? What do you mean 'maybe'?" 

"He _is_ one hundred percent human, don't worry about that. But that won't change the fact that he was in hell for so long. Something like that makes a demon insane, but it could render a human catatonic. Just don't be too surprised if he's not the same when he wakes up." 

"What?" Sam asked, slight panic in his voice. 

"That is, if he wakes up at all," Balthazar continued, paying him no attention. "On the other hand, he might not even remember anything. It might just get blocked out." Seeing Sam's incredulous look, he added, "what? That's the truth, did you want me to sugar coat it for you? Honestly, I'm not sure exactly what will happen, I've never done anything like this before." 

"So you don't know for sure that anything bad is going to happen either. He could be fine." 

"It's unlikely, but know that anything that happens now is much better than anything that might have happened if he was still a demon. You wanted your brother to be human, and I gave that to you. You're welcome." 

Sam nodded with another worried look at Dean, watching the subtle rise and fall of his chest. "Thanks." 

"I'll be keeping an eye on you to make sure it worked properly. If you need any help, you know how to reach me." There was a rustling sound and the angel disappeared. 

...... 

Sam stopped at the first motel he found and got a room. The place was pretty dark and vacant at the late hour he got there, so no one noticed him carrying in his limp brother. He carefully set Dean on a bed and just watched him warily, trying to believe that he would be alright. The Enochian sigil was still burned into his arm and looked painful, there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his breathing was shallow and nearly undetectable, and aside from the very slight breathing, he didn't move in any way. His unconsciousness was somewhat unnerving, more death-like than sleep-like. 

Sam was unspeakably happy and relieved that Dean was actually human again, a fact that he'd only accepted after dousing his hand in holy water, but he knew that they weren't out of the dark yet. Not until Dean woke up and Sam saw that he really was alright. Even then, there still was the matter of everything Dean had done during the last few months, plus whatever had happened in Hell to make the demons hate and fear him so much. This posed a few problems. 

1: Dean had climbed pretty high in demonic status to a point where every demon knew and despised him but were often too smart to try and take him down. If word got out that Dean was now human, then they would have a swarm of angry and vengeful demons on their hands; no matter how good a hunter Dean was, having that many demons out for his blood just couldn't end well. 

2: By the end, Dean had become pretty dark, picking up innocent girls then mercilessly slaughtering them, and probably not before taking advantage of them. This sprouted the majority of their problems: 

2a: Sam knew for a fact that the police in at least twelve states and the FBI were looking high and low for him. The demon had taken his first five to ten victims without switching his meat suit at all, then the occasional one here and there after that. This being said, Dean was likely high on the list of most wanted criminals, a famous murderer. Plus, he never bothered to hide from security cameras or be at all discreet about his actions, so the authorities knew what he looked like; probably matched him up with his already extensive record. Sam hadn't turned on the news lately, but knew that Dean's mug shot was likely plastered all over the media. 

2b: Hunters. Dean had managed to flaunt his distinctive blue demonic eyes to as many bartenders and onlookers as possible at the bars where he picked up his victims. That was something people tended to remember when questioned about a young girl's disappearance, and also something that would attract the attention of every hunter in a hundred mile radius. Seeing as Dean had preferred to stay in his own body, those hunters would be watching out for him and would likely shoot first and ask questions never. 

2c: Sam was having a hard time separating Dean - the real, human Dean lying in front of him - from his cruel, maniac, nightmarish demonic persona who had teased and taunted and threatened and attacked him not an hour earlier. What he'd done should be unforgivable, but Sam kept telling himself that it wasn't really his brother. It was the dark, evil, corrupted thing that nine hundred years in Hell had made him. Even so, Sam was at least a little uneasy being around him knowing what he'd been capable of. 

3: How would Dean react to knowing everything that he'd done? Killing innocent people was something he would never be able to justify to himself, demon or not. He had a strict rule: they don't kill people. Ever. And if he knew how close he'd come to killing his own brother on top of it... If Dean had been so full of self-loathing before becoming a demon, he would definitely hit rock bottom after. The guilt alone would be crippling. 

Then again, Balthazar had mentioned that there was a chance he wouldn't even remember being a demon. Of course, Dean wasn't stupid, he'd probably piece it together eventually. But, Sam decided, if he didn't remember on his own what had happened, then he would never know. Sam resolved to protect his brother from the truth as much as possible. It had always been the other way around, Dean protecting Sam, but this was something that needed doing. Sam was happy to nearly have his brother back and nothing would ruin it if he had any say in the matter. 

He thought back to the demon's final words: _"quom me occidisti, frater",_ English, "you've killed me, brother". The immense pain and betrayal conveyed behind these words haunted him. He wanted to tell himself that it was just the demon realizing his downfall, but he felt that there was something more there. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but for some reason he felt that (despite the fact that it was said in Latin, the native language of the demon) the sentiment was Dean's. He felt that those last words were some omen to a bleak outcome. Perhaps he was saying that by making Dean human, he was making his death definite. He tried to shake the thought away. 

Noticing his nagging hunger, Sam remembered that he hadn't eaten for a few days. He tore his concerned gaze off Dean to leave to get food, but not before blocking off the windows and door with salt, wary of problem #1. He was gone for no more than twenty minutes and brought back a greasy bag with a bacon cheeseburger and fries for Dean when he woke up, figuring that he'd be hungry. 

Not ten minutes later, Dean finally stirred. First small groggy movements, then he propped himself up on his elbows, taking in his surroundings with confusion. His green eyes finally fell on his brother. "S-Sam?" He sat up further, squinting his eyes shut and rubbing his forehead. "What the hell happened?"


	58. Chapter 58

Sam's heart leapt when Dean sat up. It hadn't been long, but he was starting to get scared that he wouldn't wake up at all. Balthazar had made him paranoid, worrying about every possible outcome. He avoided the question. 

"How you feeling?" Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and moved to sit at the edge of the bed. "My head hurts like hell. What happened," he asked again, "where are we?" 

He wasn't too injured, that was good. With how violent the spell was, Sam had started worrying that Dean had been hurt in the process. Plus, he wasn't freaking out so far, that was also good. Sam again sidestepped the question and moved on to the second order of business: "what do you remember?" 

Dean shook his head slowly, thinking for a moment before answering, "um, I remember being some hell hound's chew toy. After that, not a damn thing. What happened? How am I even alive right now? Unless this is Hell, is this Hell?" He looked up at Sam with slightly pathetic confusion. 

Sam narrowly avoided letting out a sigh of relief. Dean didn't remember a thing. Sure, he'd probably find out eventually, but at least he wasn't being hit with the truth right away. "Not Hell. Texas." 

"Right. Then how– no," he cut himself short, realizing something, "you didn't. Tell me you didn't." 

"Didn't what?" 

"Make a deal, Sam. Please tell me you didn't sell your soul." 

"I didn't. Believe me, I tried, but no demon would take it. I tried for years to bring you back, but nothing worked. This wasn't me." 

His brow furrowed. "Years? How long was I gone?" 

"Seven and a half years, just about." 

"Seven years?" He repeated incredulously, hoping he'd heard wrong. 

"It's August 6th, 2016." 

"Seriously?" Sam nodded. "How am I not just a pile of bones then?" 

"I have no idea," Sam lied. "You just kind of showed up then passed out. You don't remember that?" 

Dean shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. Of course he didn't remember it, it didn't happen. But he didn't need to know that. "Well if it wasn't you, then what the hell was it? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad to be back. Glad I don't remember seven years of hell. But still, something's screwy here, man. Do you think maybe it was a demon?" 

_Yes,_ Sam thought, _it was a demon, it was you._ "What makes you think that?" 

"Well I stink of sulfur." He sniffed the collar of his shirt, "my clothes are covered in it." 

_Great._ "I don't know why a demon would pull you out of the pit. Let's just be happy for it. I mean, you're back. Enjoy it a little. You hungry?" Sam grabbed the greasy bag from the table. 

Dean's eyes widened at the smell of food, suddenly realizing just how hungry he really was. "Hell yes," he said with a grin, standing to join his brother at the small table. Sam smiled as Dean gleefully unwrapped the burger and took a bite, closing his eyes and humming in satisfaction as he chewed slowly. He was so innocent and unchanged that Sam could almost forget his demon persona. 

"So you really don't remember anything?" He verified, still having a hard time making himself believe that they would be so lucky. 

Dean shrugged. "Nothing. It's weird, like I was never gone. It feels like I just fell asleep and then woke up seven years later. I might think you were just screwing with me, but look at you, Sammy. My baby brother's all grown up." Another appreciative bite of the burger. "You need a haircut," he said with a smirk through the mouthful. 

They sat and talked. Dean was curious about everything that had happened while he was gone: any events of national importance he ought to know about, what Sam had been up to, how was Bobby, how were Ellen and Jo. Sam answered everything as truthfully as possible, only omitting the more recent events. The sudden return to normalcy was, though slightly overwhelming, very welcomed. However, Sam knew that it wouldn't last. The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that Dean would put the pieces together quickly. As stubborn as he'd always been, he would want answers. Truths that Sam wanted to avoid at all costs. Even if he didn't piece it together himself, he would likely find out one way or another what with his face plastered all over the media and the few demons that would inevitably track him down sooner or later. 

But for now, Sam just enjoyed truly having his brother back. 

The calm, domestic air, of course, didn't last long. About a half hour in, Dean started absently scratching at his arm where the sigil was burnt into his skin. Apparently, it didn't hurt anymore, but it didn't take long for him to notice it. Realizing that something was there, he pulled up the sleeve of his jacket. When he saw part of the engraving, he took the jacket off entirely to get a better look. 

"The hell?" He stared and rubbed at the neatly engraved sigil. "Look at this, did you see this?" 

Sam hesitated a bit, wondering how he could possibly explain this. "I... thought you noticed it before," he said lamely. 

"If I did, I forgot about it. You think maybe it has something to so with how I got out?" 

"I-I don't know, maybe," he stammered, wishing that Balthazar could come and explain. But he knew that that would mean telling Dean about being a demon. Seeing as he was still a bit jumpy and disoriented, Sam decided that he wasn't ready for the truth. Not just yet. 

"I'll search up on it later. Right now, the stink of sulfur's making me sick. I'm gonna take a shower, clear my head a little. Then we," he said with authority, "are going to go get a drink." He smirked at Sam and slapped a hand on the table before heading to the bathroom. 

Sam let out a huff once Dean was out of the room. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table and his head on his hand. He felt horrible keeping things from Dean, especially something so important. He would find out eventually, Sam knew that. But just not now. Dean was content at the very least and that was all that mattered. But in the near hour that he'd been back, there were already two strikes against him with the sulfur and the sigil. Sam had almost stopped noticing the sulfur after spending so much time with the demon. He wondered if Dean had believed him when he said that he didn't know why there was a sigil on his arm or why his clothes smelled like sulfur. Sam used to know his brother so well that he could read him like a book. However, he was about seven years out of practice, so the skill was rusty to say the least. 

Just as Sam was thinking this, he heard Dean yell over the sound of the faucet. "Okay, what the hell?!" He sounded annoyed and almost angry. The water turned off and Dean came back out, shirt in hand. "There's definitely something weird going on here, Sam." He pointed at the tattoo on his chest. "You know what that is?" 

_Crap,_ he'd forgotten about that. Sam tried his best to look surprised and confused, "a tattoo?" 

Dean rolled his eyes impatiently. "'A tattoo'" he mimicked, "it's a binding link. A demonic possession lock. Do you have any idea what's going on here?" 

Sam shook his head, managing to look innocent, though he could feel a rising sense of panic. "Not a clue," he lied smoothly. 

"Give me some holy water." "Why?" He asked while handing over the bottle. 

"Because if I have this, then that means either there was a demon in me and it was killed or, more disturbing, there still is and I just can't tell." He poured a bit of holy water on the back of his hand and let it sit for a second. After seeing no reaction, he shook the wetness off. He tossed away his sulfurous shirt and swapped it for a new, clean one. 

"Let's go get that drink now." 

"Weren't you going to take a shower?" 

"Screw hygiene, I need some alcohol."


	59. Chapter 59

Dean's mind was foggy to say the least. His head was still dully throbbing and he was pretty disoriented. No matter how he tried, he couldn't remember a thing after being attacked by the hellhound, and even that memory was cloudy. He was alright with not remembering Hell, but for some reason he felt like there was more he was missing. There were quite a few things about the situation that bothered him: 

First of all, the traces of sulfur on his clothes. Even if it was a demon that pulled him out, he didn't know if it would have left any traces. However, he wasn't really sure how such a thing would happen anyway, so he didn't rule out the possibility, though he still couldn't imagine why a demon would do him a favor. Maybe one dragged him out and possessed him for a while, that could explain the sulfur. 

Second, the binding link tattoo in place of his anti-possession one. This also supported his possession theory. Though he wasn't sure how a demon had gotten past the original ward there. Well, demons were pretty big on making deals; it was possible that he'd negotiated with a demon to get him out in exchange for getting rid of the anti-possession tattoo and letting it ride him around for a while. If that was the case, it wouldn't be the smartest move, but he had a feeling that, after seven years in Hell, it probably would have sounded like a pretty good deal. 

The only thing that didn't fit was the strange symbol branded on his arm. Aside from its confusing presence, it looked somewhat healed. He knew it hadn't happened before he died, but it couldn't have healed _while_ he was dead. If he was right in his theory, then it was probably something that the demon had done while using his body. However, from what he'd seen, sigils carved into skin were never good news, usually part of some powerful spell. 

None of this, however, explained his biggest question: how the hell was he alive? Even if a demon dragged him out, his soul was dead. People don't come back from Hell. Period. It was impossible. For demons it was another story, but he'd never heard of a human getting out, with or without assistance. 

On top of it all, he felt like Sam was hiding something. Dean knew his brother, his tells. He could that Sam was playing dumb, he just didn't know why. That was half the reason he suggested they go get drinks (the other half being that he really could use one after his strange awakening): when Sam had enough to drink, he was an open book. It may be a bit immoral to get his brother drunk to get some answers, but he definitely wouldn't get anything out of him otherwise, seeing as he was pretty set on keeping his mouth shut. Besides, it was Sam's own fault if he drank too much and couldn't handle his liquor. 

They found a bar & grill in town, pretty generic, tables on one wall and a bar on the other. It was late enough that the place wasn't too crowded, but loud enough that they could talk in relative private. They sat down at the bar and Dean called for a round, flashing a grin at the attractive brunette behind the bar, who just gave him a suspicious once-over before going to get their drinks. Slightly deflated, Dean went back to inconsequential chat with his brother, waiting for the alcohol before he rolled out any important matters. The first round came and went. 

"Man, I wanna find out what did this," he said once their second round of drinks was set in front of them. "'Cause this ain't right. People don't just pop out of the pit." "Yeah, I wanna find it too. And we will. But we don't even know where to start. Besides, you just got back, Dean. Maybe you should take it easy for a while." 

Sam took a large drink, downing almost the whole glass. Apparently, he'd become more of a heavy drinker since Dean died. 

Dean noted that the bartender perked up at overhearing his name and gave him another suspicious glance, this time almost looking afraid, and hurried out of sight to the back room. He thought it was strange, but gave it little thought, returning to the conversation. "I can't just take it easy. Whatever pulled me out had to be powerful, and it's still out there. Plus, we don't know why it did. Maybe whatever it is is planning something." 

A strange look, guilt perhaps, flashed across Sam's face. "I don't know. Maybe." 

Dean leaned in a bit, "you sure you don't know?" He asked, starting to get annoyed with all the lies. 

His brow furrowed, "what do you mean?" 

"I mean it seems like you know a little more than you're letting on." 

Sam forced out a little laugh, "you think I'm lying to you?" 

Dean's face remained serious, "I think you aren't telling me everything." 

"Come on, you know just as much as I do," he said somewhat nervously, finishing off his drink and ansently tugging at his jacket like he often did when he lied. 

"Really? How did I end up in a motel in Texas, again?" His mind already fogging with the alcohol, Sam took too long to respond. He opened his mouth to say something, but Dean continued without letting him, "and the tattoo, and the sulfur, and this thing," he gestured to his arm where the strange symbol was covered by a sleeve, "you have no idea what any of that's about?" Sam gulped and shook his head. Dean was displeased. "Well it's good to know you have my back, Sammy," he said sarcastically. "Good to know I can trust you." With Sam, if asking nicely didn't work, then guilt usually did. 

There was a tense silence before Sam spoke up again, slow and unsure, "okay, yeah. There's some stuff I know that you don't. But believe me, you don't want to know." 

Dean perked up at this. "You know how I got out?" Sam nodded almost imperceptibly, looking distant, worried, and somewhat scared. "Well are you gonna tell me?" 

He shook his head. "You aren't gonna like it." "Come on, Sam." 

He just shook his head again, closing his eyes and biting his lips shut like a child. 

"Gah, you're useless." Dean sighed and leaned his elbows on the bar, finishing off his second glass. 

A large, bearded man appeared behind the bar in front of them. He cleared his throat to get their attention and both looked up. "Howdy. Name's Jake, owner of this fine establishment," he introduced himself. "I think you two are in a bit of trouble." He lowered his voice, addressing Dean, "we know who you are. Cops are on their way." As if to emphasize his point, sirens could be heard in the distance, approaching the small bar. "Now I suggest you go quietly, 'cause from what I hear, they're allowed to shoot you dead if you try anything." 

Dean looked at him incredulously. "What're you talking about? We haven't done anything wrong," he protested. He realized that when the bartender disappeared, she'd probably gone to call the cops. 

"Yeah, that's what all the psychos say." The sirens stopped right outside, "now get, before they have to come in here and make a big scene out of it."


	60. Chapter 60

At the police station, the brothers were kept separated. Dean was locked up in a holding cell, hands and feet chained together, annoyingly limiting movement. He didn't know where they were keeping Sam, but he was pretty sure that they wouldn't have let him go due to his own extensive record. He was still very unclear as to why he was locked up so securely. Or why he was locked up at all, for that matter. He knew full well that he had committed more than a few crimes in his time, but he'd been off the map for at least seven years. How did anyone around here even know about him, much less recognize him? Or maybe his theory was right, some demon had used his meatsuit to wreak havoc. 

He was starting to doubt theory after talking to Sam (rather, attempting to). In their line of work, demonic possession wasn't too big of a deal, an occupational hazard. So it begged the question: why would Sam try so hard to keep that a secret? Sure, it wouldn't be great news, but Dean knew that anything a demon did while in his skin had nothing to do with him. So why try to keep that from him? Perhaps his theory was completely off-base, maybe it wasn't a demon at all. But if not a demon, then what? What could possibly be so bad that Sam completely refused to tell him? 

His thoughts were interrupted by the staccato sound of heels clicking on the cement floor. He looked up to see a tall brunette in a pantsuit, staring at him with disapproval and authority and some vague excitement. Her glare made him feel like an animal in a zoo. "Well, well. Dean Winchester. It is great to finally meet you face to face, even better since you're in chains." 

FBI, he assumed due to her naturally authoritative stance, hard features, and professional getup. He stood and shuffled up to the metal bars to face her, "apparently you know me, so who might you be, sweet cheeks?" 

Slight fear and disgust flashed across her face before responding, "Special Agent Burke, FBI. For the past couple months, it's been my job to know everything about you. And let me just say, you are quite the puzzle." 

"Well that's awful kind of you." 

"It wasn't a compliment." 

"Look, I don't know what it is you think I did, but it wasn't me. You've got the wrong guy." 

"Trying to play innocent isn't going to help you. You've been caught red-handed, figuratively and literally. I have plenty of forensic evidence, video evidence, and witnesses all pointing to you." She started to lazily pace in front of him. "The weird thing is that all your charges before you went missing were for random felonies, everything from petty theft to murder. No pattern. I was starting to think maybe you were a hit man of some sort. But all that was before you dropped off the map for seven years. We thought we were done with you, but then a few months ago you come out of hiding, step up your game. There was the arson in Colorado, body count came out to over a hundred. After that, you suddenly get the serial killer mindset. A certain victim pool, all taken and killed the same way. Body count: twenty one." 

"Twenty four," he corrected without thinking. It surprised him, he didn't know where the number came from. It just kind of fell out without his permission. The small, unconscious outburst left him confused and almost frightened, desperately wondering what was happening to him. 

Burke didn't seem to find it strange at all, she just cut off the end of his words to continue forcefully, "you jumped up to America's most wanted in just a month. I saw the crime scenes, those girls were torn apart, and you left your signature at every scene." She held up a picture to the bars, some sigil drawn on a wall in what was likely the victim's blood. There was so much blood. The thought that it was his hands that had done that made Dean sick. "I don't know if that's some kind of screwed up of Satan-worshipping ritual sacrifice thing or what, but it made it easy to tell where you'd been. Even so, your record precedes you, you really are one slippery SOB. Even with a record like yours, you've only actually been to prison once, and for just a few days before you somehow broke out. You've been caught multiple times, but they could never seem to keep you locked up. Kind of makes me wonder why you were so easy to catch this time..." she trailed off, thoughtful. After a second, she shook away the thought and continued, "then I've got a guard from when they caught you in Dayton, Ohio, said he saw you escape. I asked how you got out and why he let you go. He said he had no idea how you got free, but he swears he tried to stop you, shot you four times. Went to look at the scene and sure enough we found your blood. Our expert says one shot to the arm, three to the chest. Wonder how you're still kicking after that? On top of that, you've been pronounced dead four times. Seems like I'm dealing with the immortal man, doesn't it?" 

Dean didn't know what to say. Half of what she'd said he already knew about, but apparently he'd forgotten everything from the past months. "Alright, you don't understand, I—" 

She cut him off, "honestly, I couldn't care less what your motive might be or what's going on in that screwed up brain of yours. All I care about is finally getting you locked up for good. Monsters like you deserve the tiny, dark, special cell they've got set aside in supermax." She nodded at the small window near the ceiling, "hope you enjoyed your last breath of free air, because you're gonna be put away for a long time." She turned to leave. 

In all honesty, Dean was scared. The harsh sentence he was sure to receive and the somehow intimidating Agent Burke were of course unsettling, however it was something else that had him truly frightened. What the hell had _happened?_ He was scared about whatever it was that Sam refused to tell him. According to Burke, he'd been pretty busy over the last few months, even though he'd only woken up a few hours ago. He thought a shapeshifter, maybe. But then how would a that tie in to all the obvious demonic signs? And then there was that little, random outburst. Though small, it scared him. It pointed to the idea that this whole thing really did have something to do with him, seeing as he seemed to remember it subconsciously. When – if – he got to talk to Sam again, he would have to somehow get answers. Over a hundred bodies were piled up around him and he wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of it.


	61. Chapter 61

The lighting in the small, musty room was poor. Earlier in the night, when they stumbled in from the bar, this had served as some nice mood lighting. Now, however, it made the scene dreamlike. Or nightmarish, depending on the viewpoint. The young girl's slightly drunken, whimsical decision to leave with this charming and mysterious man had turned sour just as she was preparing to go home. 

Suddenly and sharply contrasting the man's gentle composure beforehand, he'd roughly stopped her from walking out the door. He painfully grabbed her shoulder with one hand and pulled her close to him, growling into her ear, "what's the rush, sweetheart? We're just getting to the fun part." She was briefly released from his grip, only to be secured to a chair by some invisible force that completely immobilized and silenced her. 

Now, he took his time in unsheathing his favorite knife, mesmerized by the way the dim light danced off it. He'd recently sharpened it to a clean and deadly edge and he had to admit, it looked just as wicked as his tools in Hell. He nicked his thumb to test its sharpness, watching as the small bead of red rolled down the length of the blade, then ran his tongue over the cut, the taste of his own blood and the power coursing through it invigorating. 

Meanwhile, the girl was putting forth her best efforts to move away, to escape, anything, but nothing worked. The invisible force holding her mouth shut prevented her from screaming like she wanted to, but she was emitting tiny, pathetic, frightened sobs. 

The sounds along with the heavy waves of fear and panic coming off of her refocused the man's attention. He suddenly appeared crouched in front of her. "Hmm you're so pretty when you're terrified." He gently pushed her black hair behind her ear with the tip of his knife, dark, unearthly blue eyes fixated on her watering brown ones. He released the supernatural hold on her mouth, "go ahead," he whispered with a grin, "scream." 

....... 

Dean jerked awake, breathing heavy, heart pounding in his chest. The dream had been so terrifyingly real. Dean himself, with a set of blue demonic eyes, obviously about to torture and kill an innocent girl. The worst part about it was that, as the dream played out, Dean clearly felt all of the madness and excitement and sadistic pleasure and, God help him, he enjoyed every second of it. And as if that wasn't enough, he wasn't just looking on, this was was more like a memory, each action his own. He couldn't see it, but he knew the exact moment his eyes had changed color, knew that that color would be a deep midnight blue. Unmistakable demon eyes. However horrifying, he was glad that the dream ended when it did. He could tell what was coming next and he definitely didn't want to see it. 

He didn't even remember nodding off. He was still sitting on the edge of the holding cell's cot, apparently having fallen asleep slumped over, elbows on his knees. He couldn't have been out for long, seeing as the setting sun still filtered through the small window and he was still in shackles. He shut his eyes and tried to calm himself, taking a few deep breaths. He wanted to talk to Sam, wanted to know what the hell was going on. He wanted nothing more than to be able to open his eyes and be somewhere else, anywhere else. 

Then, miraculously, he was. When he opened his eyes again, rather than the gloomy holding cell, he was met with the (equally gloomy, yet less oppressive) motel room he'd originally woken up in. He found himself sitting on the edge of a bed in the same position he was sitting on the cot at the police station, as if he hadn't moved. The place was just as they'd left it, fast food wrappers on the table and lines of salt at the door and windows. His hands and feet were still shackled, so he couldn't pretend that he'd imagined the whole thing. But then how had he gotten there? Had he blacked out and somehow escaped? It was a possibility, his memory hadn't been exactly reliable lately. If that was the case, how did he manage to get out, who may have gotten hurt in the process, and why was he still in chains? 

"What the...?" he heard Sam's voice from behind him, "Dean?" Dean turned to see his brother standing next to the other bed, looking at him with confusion and, was that fear? "Did — did you do this?" He tilted his head slightly and eyed him with suspicion. 

Sam apparently had no idea what happened either, so it must have been an instantaneous thing. Strange. But his question was even more confusing. Why should Sam's first assumption be that Dean was responsible? Dean stood to face him, nearly tripping on the chain between his ankles. "Did _I_ do this? How the hell could _I_ have done this? What's happening here, Sam?" 

"I don't know," he answered plainly, though slight relief showed on his face. 

He obviously knew something, and the dishonesty was really starting to get on his nerves. "Cut the crap, I know that there's something you're hiding." 

Sam began another lie, "no, I really–" 

"Sam." His voice clearly conveyed a threat and warning. The dangerous tone was not quite intentional and almost frightening, but he was too angry to care. 

"I don't know!" 

Dean cut him off, reaching the end of his patience. _"Iustus dico me!"_ he shouted angrily, but recoiled when the words came out. He had meant to say it in English, he had no idea why it came out in Latin. It was similar to his correcting Agent Burke on the body count, felt as though it wasn't really him saying it. Sam was just as surprised, stepping back slightly, fear in his eyes. Dean sunk back down to the bed, rubbing his forehead with exasperation. "Dammit, Sam, I'm losing it here. I don't know what's happening to me. So if you know anything, can you _please_ just tell me? Before it gets me killed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iustus dico me - just tell me


	62. Chapter 62

Honestly, Sam was afraid to tell Dean the truth. A parade of 'what ifs' ran through his head. What if it proved to be too much for him? What if all of his memories from that time came back to him? What if that caused some mental breakdown? What if he just lost it again? Dean's sudden Latin scared him, made him worry that maybe more of the demon was left than he thought, that it may come back to the surface if he stirred those memories. 

Past all this, however, it was Dean's right to know. He made a good point, at this pace, not knowing the truth could somehow get him killed. This again brought his thoughts back to the demon's last words. What if Sam wasn't able to save him after all? 

He could tell that Dean was scared too, helplessly confused. And this was before he knew what was actually going on. Ignorance may be the better option in some aspects, it could spare him the guilt and hatred towards what he'd become. However, he needed to hear it. It was time for the truth to come out. 

"You're not going to like it," Sam warned one last time, but he knew his brother too well to think that he'd back out now. 

"You've said. Look, I don't have to like it, I just want to know. How did I get out and what am I not remembering?" 

Sam sighed and sat on the other bed facing Dean, trying to figure out how he could possibly explain. The beginning seemed like a good place to start. "So, I'm sure you figured out by now that you actually got back a few months ago. As to how..." He paused, unsure. 

"Spit it out." 

"You were a demon." He rushed through the words, not wanting to drag it out any longer than was absolutely necessary. 

"Heh, no, seriously," he tried to brush it off with humor, but Sam could hear the apprehension in his voice. 

Sam said nothing, just staring at him gravely. 

"You're not serious." Now he sounded scared. 

Sam nodded. 

Dean ran a hand down his face (chain dragging the other along with the action), seemingly trying to process the information. "I wasn't just possessed? I was actually..." he trailed off, not quite able to say it aloud. 

"Yeah." 

"You're sure?" 

"How else would you have gotten out?" 

Dean shook his head and took a few calming breaths before continuing, head down so he wouldn't have to look at his brother. "So all that stuff the fed chick was talking about, that really was me? The arson and the murders," he was looking increasingly disgusted, "over a hundred people dead. That was all me?" 

"Not the people in the fires. They were already dead. Other demons on a killing spree." 

"Yeah, that makes it a lot better," he said sarcastically, "so I was only responsible for those twenty four innocent girls." 

"Twenty four?" Sam repeated, surprised. He'd only found nineteen. 

Dean nodded slightly, sorting everything in his head, "I don't know why I remember, but I do." 

"You're remembering things?" 

"Just the body count. And I think I had a dream about it." 

This concerned Sam, if he was remembering, what was next? He _had_ transported the two of them back to the motel. Even though Dean had no idea how it happened, Sam had recognized the demon travel. If he could do that, what else might be threatening to break out? 

Dean was silent for a moment, still trying to believe it. After a while, he looked up at Sam, "so what happened, really? What did you do? I don't even know what I am right now. Because I can't be a demon, the salt and holy water did nothing. But how could I be human? That's impossible, right?" 

"I got an angel to help. Balthazar. He said he could turn you back." 

"An angel? Really? Like, an actual angel?" 

Sam nodded. "That thing on your arm, that was part of the ritual. It's Enochian, angel language." 

"Why would an angel help a demon? Wouldn't you think they'd be natural enemies or something?" 

"I don't know, but he did. And it worked." Provided the evidence, Sam wasn't all too sure about the last statement. 

Dean seemed to realize something, confusion on his face deepening. "For that matter why would a _hunter_ help a demon? Why didn't you just kill me?" 

"What?" 

"Why didn't you kill me?" he asked again, "if I really was a – a demon," he stumbled on the word a bit, "then why the hell am I alive right now?" 

"I told you: I got help, I fixed it." 

"But _why?_ A demon comes at you, you kill it. End of story. Why didn't you?" 

"Well my dead brother shows up after seven years, I'm sorry if I didn't shoot you on sight. I wasn't stupid about it, I made sure it really was you and not some random demon. You weren't bad at first. Everything just went back to normal. You were just... you. Just with black eyes sometimes and some demon powers." 

Dean looked horrified at what he was hearing. "And that didn't tip you off? You never thought 'hey, maybe this is a bad idea'?" 

"Obviously, I wasn't sure I could trust you at first, I learned my lesson after what happened with Ruby." 

"What happened with Ruby?" 

"Turned out she was working with Lilith to try to start the apocalypse or something. I ended up killing her." 

"And even after that, you still thought it was a good idea to work with a demon?" 

"I know, but it wasn't just a demon it was you. We hunted for a while, you acted a little different, but nothing too suspicious. Saved my life enough times, I thought I could start trusting you again. But then some other demons showed up with a plan to wipe out humanity. You disappeared to stop them on your own. When you came back, your eyes were blue, not black." 

"Blue? But I thought colored eyes were reserved for big bad boss demons." 

"They are. You told me that you took the power from one of the higher-ups, Marik. That's why your eyes changed, but you said you were already a boss. Still don't know of what, but I guess you really were one of the top dogs in Hell. I think that's probably where it started going downhill. I didn't even know how bad it was until some hunters found us." 

"Hunters were after us? And you still thought it was fine?" 

"I didn't know until they found us. They caught me and used me as live bait. I guess you showed up. I'm not really sure what happened, I was out cold for most if it. Later, you told me that you killed them... and enjoyed it." His voice got quiet, "that was when you really started sounding like one of them. I took you to Bobby's and we locked you up so I could go looking for a cure. Before I could find anything, that other demon from the down-with-humans plan came for me, tortured me to get revenge on you. I still don't know how you got out of the panic room, but I'd definitely be dead if you didn't show up. Then you just told me that you weren't... you anymore and disappeared. That was a little more than a month ago. I guess that's when all the really bad stuff started. The... serial killer... stuff." 

Dean was listening intently as some memories came back to him. Few and cloudy and disjointed, but memories, nonetheless. It was the main reason he believed anything Sam was saying. "And you tried to stop it, right?" 

"Of course I did. But by then you were pretty much too strong to stop. I couldn't even find you to try to do anything. I ended up tracking you down through some guy you possessed," Dean looked disgusted at that, "and I called Balthazar and he cured you. And that's about where we are now."


	63. Chapter 63

"Dean?" Sam asked, worried when a few minutes passed without an answer. 

Dean just held up a hand to signal him to wait, not quite able to find words. He just needed time to process everything that Sam had told him. He didn't even know what to think. It was so much to take in at once and he was still caught on the initial fact: he was a demon. It was hard to believe. He didn't want to accept it, but looking at the facts, it really was the only explanation. He was covered in sulfur when he woke up because demons produce sulfur. He had a binding link tattoo rather than an anti-possession one because as a hunter he would of course anticipate and take precautions against exorcisms. He had an Enochian sigil on his arm because an angel had made him human again. He didn't want it to be true, but it just had to be. It made too much sense. Plus, why would Sam make something like this up? He could see now why he tried to hide it in the first place, it really was an ugly truth. 

And now the police were after him because he was a damned _serial killer._ He concluded that that horrific dream was a memory. Some odd, extra-vivid way of remembering what he'd done as a demon. He tried to make real the fact that not only did he actually torture and kill that girl in his dream, but he'd also done the same to twenty three others. And as if that wasn't demonic enough, he'd finished off each kill with that mystery sigil, painted on the wall in the victim's blood. He didn't even want to think about what that might be for. He was a monster. That was all that could really be taken away from the situation. He never thought that he would have the capacity to do something so horrible, but apparently, he already _had._ And he'd _enjoyed_ it. He wondered what horrors could have happened in Hell to turn him into something such a monster in only seven years. Unless... 

"How long was I actually down there? Because that demon bitch Ruby told me this would happen. I was afraid of it for a while before I actually bit it. But she said it would take a hell of a lot longer than seven years." 

Sam responded hesitantly. "It wasn't seven years for you. It was closer to nine hundred." 

Dean's eyes widened. He said nothing for a second, hoping he'd heard wrong. "Sorry, it sounded like you said—" 

"Nine hundred years. That's what you told me at least. Time passes differently in Hell I guess." 

"Wow" was all he could say. He could hardly wrap his head around that much time in general, much less suffering that long in Hell. It made sense. Surely nine hundred years of Hell would be more than enough to break someone. Now he was _really_ glad that he didn't remember any of it. After nine hundred years of who-knows-what, it wasn't too far fetched to think his sanity would have snapped. That's all demons are, after all. Just the insane, corrupted, evil, animalistic remnants of humans. No matter how strong-willed that human was in life. Really, it was amazing that Sam had found a way to put him back together, more or less. 

His memories, both of the nine hundred years in the pit and his couple months up top, were still locked away for the most part. He did remember a small amount from things Sam had reminded him of, but mostly disjointed numbers and names and places, not so much events. Part of him wanted to know, wanted to remember what he'd done. To be well informed if nothing else. At the same time, a large part of him wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to believe that it wasn't true, that it wasn't really him. It was so much easier to just think of his demon self as a separate entity, but he knew that was far from the truth. 

His short dream/memory made this clear. Every thought and action and feeling there was his own. Dean couldn't deny that, though he was guilt-ridden and disgusted when he woke up, he was having the time of his life as the scene played out. He enjoyed every second, drinking in his victim's terror. His demon self, he supposed, was far more perceptive than a human. He remembered sensing her fear in every way: seeing her eyes glistening with it, smelling and tasting its bitter-sweetness in the air, feeling the prickle of it playing across his skin in waves, as well as registering it in some other unfamiliar sense. And he _loved_ it. He saw the helpless girl's terror as attractive, invigorating, endearing, enticing, delicious. Now, it absolutely disgusted him that he would find pleasure in another human's suffering. An innocent, helpless person, coerced into the deadly situation by whatever demonic influence he'd implemented on them. He just couldn't believe that he'd become such a monster. It made him feel physically ill. 

"How could it get that bad, how could you let it get that bad? Why'd you let it happen?" he said finally, voice quiet and weary. 

"I tried, Dean. I tried everything to get you out, there was nothing I could do." 

"That's not what I mean, I went to Hell, I know there was nothing you could have done to stop that. But, fact of the matter is, I came back as a demon. If you had just done your job and killed me the second you found out..." 

Sam looked a little shocked, "I wasn't going to kill you." 

"Why not?" 

"Because you're my brother." 

"I was a monster. That's what we do, we kill monsters. You should have." Dean buried his face into his palms, not quite able to look Sam in the eye. 

"Are you saying you'd rather be dead?" 

He shook his head slowly without looking up. "Right now, I really don't know. It's just... a lot to take in. I mean, I guess it doesn't really matter how much good you do, huh? Doesn't change the fact that a whole lot of people are dead because of me, probably more than you know or I can remember. It's a hard thing to have to live with. And just to top it off, I'm wanted for it, I can't go anywhere without being recognized. What're we going to do about that?" 

"We'll figure it out." There was a small pause as he waited for Dean to react further. When he didn't, Sam spoke up again. "You gonna be okay?" 

"Yeah, fine," he said shortly, obviously not fine and obviously not willing to say any more. Sam just left him alone to work through his thoughts.


End file.
